


A Steel Mirror

by Felishia16



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Action, Angst, Betrayal, Conspiracy, Drama & Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Jealousy, Loneliness, Loss of Virginity, No Smut, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-05-09 18:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 43,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5551322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felishia16/pseuds/Felishia16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elder Maxson is the austere leader of the Brotherhood of Steel, utterly changed from the doe-eyed boy of his youth. But when, for the second time in his life, he meets an influential vault dweller, he finds his past, present, and future colliding, forcing him to recognize that not all within the Brotherhood is as it seems…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Her

**Author's Note:**

> Upon playing Fallout 4 I just about pissed myself when I remembered that Elder Maxson was the same child you meet in Fallout 3 at the Citadel. How did the wide-eyed kid with the crush on Sarah Lyons turn into a (hot, but) radical, broody leader of the Brotherhood of Steel? What does he think about finding yet another influential vault dweller? What exactly happened to Sarah Lyons? What other forces might be at work within the Brotherhood of Steel to facilitate the organization’s rapid change from Fallout 3 to Fallout 4 and the speedy rise of Elder Maxson? This is my attempt to reconcile my thoughts. F!SS and F!LW. Some F!SS/Maxson and references to Maxson/Sarah Lyons. I will refer to SS as Knight Nora because couldn’t come up with a cool last name and figured that was a dumb reason not to continue with the story. This story will occur both before and after Danse’s personal quest as well as the end of the game so spoiler warning.

 

_It’s her._

As he finished his speech and saw her for the first time, a glimmer of recognition panged him. For one very brief instant, the carefully constructed visage of the unrelenting, unyielding, ever-certain Elder wavered.

She, too, was a vault dweller, with a grimy vault uniform and rusted sniper rifle. She, too, had a canine companion and a buzzing Pip Boy.

She, too, had a determined face and a tangible air of strength.

And yet, after a second’s glance, Elder Maxson realized he was mistaken, and his hardened mask returned. This was not the so-called ‘Lone Wanderer’ of the Capital Wasteland. This was not the woman with the kind eyes who chatted with him as a young, inexperienced boy on the Citadel. This was not the hero who purified the Capital Wastelands’ water supply all of those years who. He stifled a sharp stab of disappointment.

“Ad victoriam!” he finished, but found himself distracted and unmoved by the chants of his comrades back to him.

As they departed, he addressed this new vault dweller how he would have addressed that Lone Wanderer from so many years ago, the one who abandoned the Brotherhood and vanished into obscurity. “I care about them, you know. The people-“ of the Capital Wasteland –“…of the Commonwealth.”

This woman’s eyes were different from her doppelganger of years past. There was no kindness, nor amusement towards him. Yet again, he was no longer a naïve, idealistic boy.

“If you say so,” she uttered warily.

He wondered if her Capital Wasteland counterpart would have said the same thing.

***

Convincing this new vault dweller to aid the Brotherhood of Steel was more difficult than expected, even with her promotion to Knight. She agreed, only eventually and clearly tentatively. Had it been this difficult for the Brotherhood of Steel to convince the dweller of Vault 101 for aid a decade ago? He scratched his beard and growled.

Soldiers parted like a school of fish to a shark as Maxson left his observation deck and trudged into the belly of the Prydwyn. The Elder took no notice of the anxious shuffles of his crewmates, still brooding as he headed to the Prydwyn’s main deck. His soldiers saluted him hastily, but he neither noticed nor acknowledged them.  Instead, he brusquely slammed the door to his private quarters.

He felt a tangible pull towards a heavily fortified chest beckoning at the foot of his bed. He paused before lifting the heavy lid open, lest one of his brethren disturb him. He wished to be alone when he found what he was looking for.

He heard no signed of commotion or rustling near his door, and slowly proceeded to rummage to the bottom of the chest. It was no accident that the objects of his desire lay buried at the chests’ base. He purposely placed them there, lest some curious scribe discovered them while cleaning.

Then he felt them. His calloused hands hastily grabbed the familiar texture of glossy photos and rumpled paper. He used to review the pictures and reports obsessively in his younger years, as if he would somehow gain an epiphany or unlock a secret if he just looked one more time. Finally, with time, these accursed papers’ powers weakened, until the memories and speculations they held faded like their very text.

But today, their curse has begun anew, thanks to that damned vault dweller.

The last decade has morphed Maxson into a stolid, reserved man. And yet, as he found himself looking upon one of the few images of Sarah Lyons, he found himself suppressing the same damned blush that used to engulf his cheeks as a boy on the Citadel.

She was as he remembered her, comfortably suited in power armor with her silken blonde hair tied up, standing assuredly in the center of her unit, the Lyon’s Pride. The photo was taken for the Brotherhood archives not long after the Capital Wasteland’s water was reclaimed and the final remnants of the Enclave were destroyed. Despite her accomplishments, Sarah’s face betrayed no gratification or pleasure, save for a familiar twinkle in her eyes.

He wished, almost painfully, that she could see him now: as the leader of the Brotherhood…as a man… not as a silly boy with unfeasible dreams.

Off to the side in the photo, both with the Brotherhood and yet clearly alone, was the vault dweller of years past. Even at first glance, it was apparent that famed ‘Lone Wanderer’ was indeed a different woman from the Vault 111 resident. The Lone Wanderer’s features were sharper and leaner than her doppelganger from today. Her hair was lighter and she was taller. This vault dweller from the photo gave a small smirk at the camera, with the same kind eyes he recalled as boy. This woman clearly approved of the Brotherhood members beside her.

And yet, the Lone Wanderer ultimately abandoned the brotherhood following Sarah’s death.

Perhaps these two vault dwellers weren’t so different.


	2. Alone

 

Maxson was not one to give compliments out lightly, but when the vault dweller- now Knight Nora- managed to clear Fort Strong with Paladin Danse, Maxson found himself already telling a woman who had spent less time with the Brotherhood than a raw recruit that her work was “outstanding.”

For her part, the new Knight betrayed little gratitude, instead asking him a flurry of questions above her station. And yet, for his part, the young Elder indulged her. Next thing Maxson knew, he had divulged more information about his crusade against the institute than was fitting for someone of her rank.

It was only now, after the fact, that Maxson wondered why he was extending such special curtesy to a woman who was little more than an outsider.

Perhaps it was because she herself had returned from the mission physically vulnerable. The fight at Fort Strong had clearly been a difficult one. She reported to him bloody, charred, and irradiated. After the debriefing, he had ordered her to immediately report to Doctor Cade for care. She gave a mild protest (she seemed to protest everything he said), citing other orders, but when he insisted, she finally acquiesced.

But her injuries were hardly the only reason he found himself acting strange.

Now that he was once again in solitude on the observation deck, flashes of another life fought their way into his mind.

 _Curse that vault dweller_ , he thought bitterly. And the other one, too.

***

Maxson ate alone. He always ate alone.

For his part, it wasn’t entirely his choice. For many members of the Brotherhood, he was viewed with a kind of awe normally reserved for religious deities. Indeed, he’d had to quash a few cults dedicated to him that had arisen within the brotherhood at the beginning of his tenure as Elder.

Yet, his position had forced him to distance himself from his peers, lest his aura of authority and leadership fall into question.

Thus, the Elder often took his meals in his private quarters, as he did tonight. On prior occasions he attempted to dine with his troops, but they always gave him a wide and reverential berth, cramming into other tables so he could have his own.

He always ate alone.

Tonight’s meal was interrupted by loud, purposeful clanging on his door. He beckoned a simple “Enter.”

Danse ruefully emerged, clearly displeased that he had interrupted Maxson’s meal.

“Apologies, Elder. I did not wish to disturb you,” he said hastily, bowing his head in veneration. “I was ordered to find you when the ammunition from Fort Strong had finished loading.”

The Elder did not answer right away, instead inspecting the paladin before him. 

Maxson ignored Danse’s apology. “That took less time than expected.” This was how the Elder normally complimented his crew- indirectly.

“Yes sir,” Danse affirmed. “Sir, I-“ The paladin suddenly hesitated. Danse rarely hesitated.

The Elder waved his gloved hand dismissively. “Speak freely, paladin,” softening his gruff voice just enough for Danse to relax his scowl.

Danse paused still, his cheeks flushed slightly, his head still bowed apologetically. “I was wondering if you have seen Knight Nora.  She was ordered to meet me at the flight deck at 1800, but she never showed.”

Maxson raised a brow inquiringly, the faintest hint of a smirk betraying his lips. “Lost your charge already, soldier?” It was meant as a jest, but the Danse only cringed.

The Elder frowned. He had not intended to make the paladin so glaringly uncomfortable. Such was the inevitability of his station, he supposed. He could afford no banter. He attempted to remedy the situation by casually leaning back and taking a swig of whiskey. “Relax, paladin. She is in the infirmary getting her injuries treated. I overrode your order.”

Danse practically sagged with relief. “With your permission, Elder, I would like to check on my charge.”

Maxson waved his hand coolly. “Granted. You are dismissed until 0900.”

The paladin beamed, uttering a hasty thank you before departing.

The Elder placed his utensils down as silence returned to his quarters. For some reason, the exchange with Danse left him agitated.

Perhaps because, even though his role was merely one of sponsorship, Danse now had someone to go to, someone to look after.

Maxson, however, was alone. He was always alone.


	3. Sleepless

 

Sleep never came easily to Arthur Maxson anymore. Night had a way of tearing open old figurative wounds, of making Maxson pick and dissect every action and inaction of the day and days past. He did his best to stifle such second guessing in his waking hours, but now angst flooded his senses.

 _This is her fault_ , he grumbled internally. As far as which ‘her’-Knight Nora, the Lone Wanderer, or Sarah Lyons- he couldn’t say. All of them, maybe.

He exhaled an exaggerated, guttural sigh, and arose. The whiskey he slogged earlier had not prevented sleep from eluding him; in fact, the lowering of his inhibitions only made his demons grow bolder. He eventually resigned himself to his now semi-normal nocturnal activity- he dressed himself to roam the Prydwyn.

The airborne beast hummed and hawed as the Elder’s boots clanged along the metal railways. A skeleton crew of nightshift soldiers saluted silently as he passed. They were used to his walks by now.

His steps were curt and purposeful, but his direction was aimless. He strode up one deck then down the other. These times were the closest he came to feeling out his subordinates. Night brought with it an ounce more relaxation for the crew, many of whom were off duty. Most were sleeping by 2200, but a few small groups clustered near the armory or mess hall, jesting and teasing and laughing.

Occasionally, Arthur wished he were one of them.

Two lights beckoned in the distance; that of the infirmary and the office of Proctor Quinlan. The presence of neither light was unusual, but he was drawn to both.

Quinlan was at his desk, carefully adjusting his glasses and he slowly typed on his computer, each key meticulously pushed with slow deliberate purpose. Proctor Quinlan was one of the oldest members aboard, and one of the few soldiers who was not intimidated or humbled by Maxson’s presence. As Quinlan’s eyes slowly creeped up to meet the Elder, he did not immediately shoot up to greet him. Instead, he received the Elder almost casually, nodding while he remained seated.

“Ah, Elder Maxson,” he drawled slowly. “Just the man I wished to see.”

Both men seemed to ignore the hour, as Maxson curtly replied “What about, Proctor?”

The older man did not immediately respond, instead grabbing a small stack of papers and skimming them over. Maxson crossed his arms. Sometimes Quinlan could be irritatingly slow, especially when he had uncovered something particularly interesting. It was as if Quinlan savored those minutes when he knew something his superior officers did not.

Finally, the Proctor continued. “I’ve had my scribes do some digging into our newest recruit.” Another damned pause.

The Elder’s brow’s furrowed. “I did not order you to do so.”

Quinlan almost betrayed a clever smile. “I know, sir, but I thought it would be a wise precaution. This _outsider_ managed to ingratiate herself with the Brotherhood unusually quickly.” Quinlan frowned, disapproval tensely crackling in the air.  

Maxson balled one hand into a fist. He did not appreciate Quinlan’s independent investigation, but couldn’t deny the prudence in doing so. He only wished he, the Elder, had thought of it first. The fact that such a sensible action never crossed his mind irked him. Nostalgic childhood memories were blocking his better judgement. “What did you find?” he attempted to ask levelly.

“Oh, well…” Quinlan said coyly. “The good news is that she hasn’t joined any gangs or mercenary groups and has actively fought institute synths. It may also be worth noting that she has built, supplied, and protected several Commonwealth settlements, which has made her popular with many of the traders and colonizers in the area. Certainly the Brotherhood of Owen Lyon’s time would have approved.” The last sentence dripped with condemnation. A decade earlier, Elder Owen Lyons, Sarah’s father, shifted the goals of the Brotherhood towards protecting innocents and away from the hoarding of advanced technology. Maxson had promptly swung his organization’s goals back towards the latter objective, to Quinlan’s apparent agreement.

Quinlans’s eyes narrowed as he continued. “However, she has also been actively helping two other major organizations in the area, neither of which is associated with the Brotherhood in any capacity. She is even the purported leader of one of them.”

Maxson hastily snatched the documents from Quinlan’s wrinkled hands. “Which factions?” he barked.

“Well…” the older man drawled again, “she is the general of the Minutemen. They were thought to be all but extinct, but she has apparently helped revive them.” He shrugged casually. “They are nothing notable, sir, just a small group of militia members who claim to help coordinate, build, and protect Commonwealth settlements.”

Maxson tapped his foot impatiently. “And the other group?”

“They are called ‘The Railroad’, sir. They appear hostile towards The Institute, but… they also facilitate the in the escape of rogue synths.”

Maxson clenched his jaw. He had been too lenient with the vault dweller, and he knew it. But what could he do? He had already promoted her to Knight, and she had thus far completed all mission swiftly and effectively. To reverse the promotion or banish her from the Brotherhood for actions she performed prior to joining might cause unease within the ranks, and would risk weakening his leadership.

“Continue monitoring her,” he said curtly, and turned heel to leave. Quinlan always managed to get under Maxson’ skin.

Maxson quickly strode across the hallway, thoughtlessly led to the other light beckoning across the hallway. He had no aim as he strode, save for the strong repellant force of Quinlan and his report.

Quinlan wasn’t wrong. He should have looked into the woman, this stranger. He allowed his boyhood adulation of Sarah and the Lone Wanderer affect his judgement. Quinlan, damn him, was never wrong.

A crumpled mass interrupted his thoughts.

He had stormed into the infirmary, where the very source of his frustration lay in a bandaged ball atop the bed.

He halted suddenly.

Knight Nora was out cold, huddled in a fetal position facing Maxson. She was enveloped in blankets and bandages. The Elder knew her condition looked worse than it was; she was still very much functional when he had sent her to the infirmary. The Stimpacks and RadAway would work quickly and Knight-Captain Cade had a habit of over-bandaging and over-medicating any soldier who complained of naught more than a headache.

But it wasn’t the condition of Nora herself which halted Maxson in place- it was the memory it violently dredged up:

It was mere days after many of the Brotherhood soldiers had left the Citadel to cleanse the waters of the Capital Wasteland and defeat the Enclave; many had returned, glowing at their success. But Sarah and the Lone Wanderer were not among them.

Eventually, Maxson’s endless whining and anxious pestering prompted Sarah’s father to bring the boy to visit the two missing women. As the boy entered the Brotherhood hospital room, he saw two crippled forms curled into fetal balls, engulfed with lotions and stitches and gauze. Neither stirred. They barely breathed.

Maxson had cried, he remembered, and insisted on staying in that interminable hospital room with them. Sarah’s father, Elder Owen Lyons, allowed Maxson to periodically drop his duties and visit, too distracted himself to keep the young boy away.

Maxson would sit in a horribly uncomfortable metal chair and watch the two dying women for hours, as if rousing them could only be accomplished by his own sheer willpower. That awful routine continued for two weeks.

Eventually both women did recover, only to disappear from Arthur’s life not long after.

As he had done before, the now adult Maxson seated himself in a hard metallic chair at the foot of Knight Nora’s bed. The weight of the day had finally sunk him. He fell asleep.


	4. Legacy

The Elder woke, store and stiff in the infirmary around 0500 to Knight-Captain Cade’s hesitant prodding. The medical man was clearly at a loss at Maxon’s unconscious presence. Maxson awoke to the doctor repeating a hesitant “Elder?” mantra that continued until Maxson stirred.

Arthur slowly arose, stifling a grunt. His joints and backed ached for being forced into that damned metal chair for so long. Cade, for his part, looked thunderstruck. While the Elder certainly checked up on injured and sick soldiers from time to time, he had never spent a night in the infirmary room.

“Is everything alright?” the doctor asking warily, cringing at the scowl now embedded in the Elder’s face.

Maxson waved a gloved hand dismissively. “Yes, knight-captain. I simply need to question the patient.”

The doctor’s intelligent eyes narrowed, searching Maxson’s now bloodshot gaze. Whatever questions simmered within Cade, however, did not bubble to the surface. Instead, Cade nodded. “You can wake her now if you wish. Aside from typical wear and tear from combat, she had moderate burns on her right side, probably from a missile explosion, and notable radiation damage. She appears to be responding well to the treatment and should be discharged today.” The doctor stopped, looked at his patient inquiringly for a moment, and returned his gaze to Maxson. “I’ll…give you some privacy.” He then promptly stepped out into the hallway.

The Elder felt a cold inkling of dread. Cade hardly seemed the gossipy type, but if word spread about the Elder’s unusual fixation on this woman, especially when *that* report was sitting on his desk, unread…

Although still young, Maxson was already feeling palpable pressure mounting to select a suitor and carry on the Maxson line. To that end, he had been sent a very uncomfortable report; within were photos and brief biographies of high ranking, “well bred”, Brotherhood females. When Maxson had sardonically asked how he was expected to select a mate based on a few grainy photos and a scant couples of sentences, his advisors suggested staging a series of brief meetings with his suitors. Truth be told, Maxson would have preferred fighting twenty irradiated Deathclaws barehanded over enduring multiple awkward, pressure-filled interviews with potential wives.

The Institute threat in the Commonwealth almost came as a kind of relief; he could focus on the mission at hand instead of being seen as the Brotherhood’s pureblooded breeding stallion. The Elder understood the necessity of continuing his family’s line, since it was a Maxson who founded the Brotherhood of Steel…but it didn’t mean he enjoyed his prospects.

The only photographed women he cared for were stifled at the bottom of his personal chest in his quarters.

Maxsons attention now turned to the newest female to enter his radar. He approached Nora slowly, suddenly wary of waking her. He tried to bark a stern “Nora” to rouse her, but she did not stir, still heavy with sedated sleep. He changed tactics, mildly clutching her shoulder to wake her. This new strategy worked; Nora stirred, and as consciousness slowly crept back, her hand slid over Maxsons’s own in an attempt to identify the source of her awakening.

Nora’s hand was small and cold over Maxson’s own; its gentle touch felt tingly even over Maxson’s gloved hand. The Elder almost shivered; he had known the touch of scarcely few women in his day. Since boyhood, he had been constantly trained, chaperoned, and observed by high ranking Brotherhood members, making interactions with his peers rare and formal. On his Brotherhood first mission, he overheard his handlers threatening his new squad mates (male and female alike) with exile should evidence of fraternization with Arthur arise; his seed was too important to be planted in any willing party.

Nora’s eyes slowly opened, and gazed unfocused upon him. “Maxson?” she asked, confused, and squeezed his hand in an attempt to determine if he was indeed real. Arthur felt a flush pass over his body; he did his best to stifle his arousal by pulling his hand away.

“Knight..” the Elder said, trying and failing to sound commanding. Instead, the words were soft. “You never told me you worked for other factions.”

Nora sighed wearily. “…Provided me with leads against the Institute.” She stopped and closed her eyes. The pull of the sedatives was still strong. “Won’t betray you.”

Deep within, Maxson felt something flutter.

Damn it.

He swiftly left the room.

***

Maxson was a master of self-inflicted punishment.

Leaving the infirmary had only left the young elder hot and bothered; he remedied the situation with a shower so awfully cold that each drop felt like icy daggers. He forced himself to stay in for a half an hour. He left the bathroom shivering and drained of color. This was not the first time he had endured such punishment; whenever he found himself fantasizing what it would be like be to touch Sarah Lyons now, as a man, he exacted the same punishment for tarnishing her memory.

 Even clothed, Maxson continued to shake. He allowed himself to slip into his bed until he warmed up; questions would arise if his troops saw him in his current state. The warmth of his bed was comforting and he permitted sleep to overtake him.

He awoke at 0800, surprisingly rested considering his previous night. Deciding his previous punishment was not quite sufficient, he grabbed the file of potential suitors and made his way to the mess hall.

The ship felt alive this morning. Troops bustled about purposefully. The mess hall was crowded, but the soldiers quickly seceded to Maxson’s presence, allowing him to grab a meal. When he decided to take his meal within the mess hall, soldiers scampered away from a nearby table like startled radroaches, yielding it to him. As usual, he ate at the table alone.

Or so he thought.

Just as the Elder opened his folder over his radscorpion eggs and began viewing his suitor’s files, he felt the table rattle. Knight Nora seated herself at the table, a just a few feet to the right of him. She seemed oblivious to the awkward silence that ensued as a consequence of her actions, and casually opened a file of her own over breakfast. She appeared alert and healthy this morning with her bandages removed, a stark contrast from a few hours ago. Even more striking was her attire. Knight Nora was not adorned in any Brotherhood of Steel uniform, and instead wore a bizarre colonial-looking outfit. A faded minuteman hat rested on the table beside her. She looked both commanding and ridiculous.

Maxson found himself staring at her in utter perplexity. He ought to have chided the woman for not being in uniform, but like everything else concerning the vault dweller, he inexplicably made her an exception. Instead he just gawked.

Nora, for her part, either did not notice or ignored Arthur’s stares, instead focusing on her food and the papers in front of her. When she finally did look up, she merely nodded in silent greeting at her superior officer.

Maxson attempted to actually focus on his own files, but the words and pictures wrung hollow. At this point, he saw Nora again lift her head, staring into the distance with a smile and small wave.  

Paladin Danse, freshly showered and adorned in his jump suit, openly cringed at Nora’s seating choice. He stood in place for a few seconds, internally debating what to do, before hesitantly seating himself across from Nora. Maxson almost found Danse’s palpable discomfort amusing. He attempted to allay it with a curt “Paladin,” greeting.

The greeting seemed to work, and Danse’s muscles stopped tensing. For a few stressed moments all three ate in silence.

Nora either didn’t sense the awkward situation or blatantly ignored it. Instead, she paused from her meal to place her colonial hat atop up her head. She waved her hands over her new minuteman uniform, and smirked. “So…what do you think?” she asked Danse.

The paladin smiled ruefully. “Honestly, soldier? Hancock pulls it off better.”

Nora returned the smile. “Well, obviously. But Preston keeps insisting I appear more…leaderly. I don’t know if you heard, but I am a _general,_ you know.” She winked.

Danse scoffed. “I hardly see how helping settlers build beds aids us in our fight against the Institute.”

 Nora shrugged. “I am waiting on the Railroad for intel on courser sightings. In the meantime, I figured we could finally give Abernathy Farm a hand against raider attacks.”

Danse shook his head and relented. “Very well.” He rose. “I need to check on the repairs to my armor. We will reconvene by the vertibirds in twenty.”

Nora nodded but made no move to leave the table.  Both Nora and Arthur ate and glanced over files in silence, as if quiet partners in some mutual case. Neither looked up or even spoke, and yet the scene felt pleasant and genial. Arthur found himself wishing that she would never leave. 


	5. Propaganda

Something had changed.

The last few days on the Prydwyn was relatively dull; Knight Nora and Paladin Danse had successfully pursued and killed a courser and were coordinating with other Brotherhood members in the construction of an Institute teleportation device. Maxson kept himself busy directing vertibird attacks on raider hideouts and super mutant strongholds. His hectic schedule was welcoming; thoughts of vault dwellers, childhood memories, and marriage suitors had all but slipped from his mind.

Except in the mess hall. His eyes would warily wander in search of his previous meal companions. Truth be told he didn’t even know what he would do if they were present. Ask if he could join them? Attempt to participate in their friendly banter? The whole thing was absurd. In any case, both Danse and Nora had been noticeably absent, and eating alone felt that much more dismal.

But as evening approached on a typical, busy day, Maxson could feel the prickling of his soldiers’ eyes upon him as he headed towards his quarters. Scribes and paladins alike seemed especially formal, especially quick to salute and hail him. The Elder did not know why. The Institute had not been defeated and he had done nothing of great merit in recent days.

When arrived at his quarters and checked his private terminal, he found his answers.

Proctor Quinlan had, unbeknownst to Arthur, written and published a new report, entitled “The Rise of Elder Maxson”. Quinlan then took it upon himself to forward his new masterpiece to every Brotherhood account he knew, as evidenced by an excessively long list of forwarding addresses. The Elder’s face grew hot from a combination of sheepish embarrassment and avid irritation. Proctor Quinlan had likely hoped use Maxson’s fame to write a literary masterpiece, forever archived into the annals of history.

Quinlan had never asked Arthur a single question. He never bothered to ask Maxson for permission to write the piece and did not even prod for details on Maxson’s past. As a perhaps unsurprising result, much of what the Proctor wrote was either inflated or wrong.

Quinlan reported that Maxson, at age 12, saved his escort team from raiders and killed two of the assailants. The latter was true, the former was not. He had been escorted by veteran paladins; they easily held their own against the raiders. It was Maxson’s adolescent desire for combat that resulted in his killing of two injured and fleeing raiders.

Quinlan also claimed Maxson had singlehandedly bested a deathclaw at 13…also untrue. There was no mention of Knight Harris, who gave her life for Arthur when the deathclaw had swiftly pounced onto him and began ripping and biting and clawing through his power armor like ripping pages out of a pre-war book. Harris had screamed and shot at the beast until it turned its attention away from Maxson and towards her. She did not survive the encounter.

Lastly, Quinlan neglected to mention the grizzled paladins and generals who largely coordinated the assaults against super mutant forces in the Capital Wasteland when he was 15. Maxson was present and did fight bravely, but his heroic killing of the super mutant leader “Shepard” had been staged. A Star Paladin had crippled the beast; Maxson was merely given the honor of firing the fatal blow.

Not to mention that Maxson was largely used as a glorified trophy during unification talks with the Western Brotherhood members and the Outcasts. Rejoin the East Brotherhood and you too might be led by Arthur Maxson… hero of the Brotherhood, noble descendant of Roger Maxson, one whose soul was forged in eternal steel! Arthur suspected that his name and glorified deeds were more effective than his diplomatic skills in reunifying the Brotherhood of Steel.

 _But_ _certainly_ , Maxson thought bitterly, _such details would not make for such a valiant and heroic story._

What irked Maxson more was the nagging feeling that Quinlan had probably been goaded into writing this piece by other influential forces in the Brotherhood. Quinlan’s loyalty might be more entangled with other high ranking Brotherhood members than with the Elder himself.

The second message on his terminal was, for Maxson personally, far more concerning that Proctor Quinlan’s exaggerated writings.

The Brotherhood council members were flying Maxson’s suitors out to the Prydwyn.

Maxson was a hard man, used to unexpected and often harsh news… but this development caused him to physically recoil. He never agreed to this!

He wracked through the message for an explanation. The only hint of rationale came from a few scant sentences in the beginning of the letter, which read: “We have not received any correspondence concerning the list of suitors we presented to you prior to your departure aboard the Prydwyn. We understand your mission against the Institute is ongoing, dangerous, and highly demanding. As such, we have taken the liberty of flying potential marriage partners to you directly aboard the Prydwyn for a 24 hour stay. In this way you can secure the Maxson legacy, gain personal and professional support, and continue your fight against the Institute uninterrupted. Their current ETA is 0930 tomorrow. We have already contacted the necessary parties aboard the Prydwyn concerning their accommodations. Please respond as soon as you find a suitable female and we will make the necessary arrangements.”

The audacity of it all made Maxson seethe. His advisors had grown impatient. Arthur had received the file on his suitors months ago and never followed up.

Arthur hunched over in his chair, running his hands through his chestnut hair. He felt hot, his mind clouded in frustration.

 _Quinlan’s new work is wrong_ , he thought bitterly. As this new incident proved, Elder Arthur Maxson was not as singularly influential and powerful as he seemed. The council had now taken it upon themselves to ensure the Maxson legacy would remain intact. Arthur was merely their prized stud.

Maxson clenched his jaw. What could he do? His suitors were already en route, and chiding each Brotherhood member involved in this plot would change nothing. They would only say, defensively, that they believed they were helping both him and the future of the Brotherhood of Steel. They would remind Maxson that, as of this moment, he had no apparent heir. If (god forbid!) anything were to happen to him, the Brotherhood of Steel would be thrown into chaos, and civil war could ensue. After all, Maxson had only recently brought the West Brotherhood of Steel members and the Outcasts back into the fold. This new alliance was still tentative and relied on his continued leadership.

They would say, pryingly, that it would be good for Maxson himself. A high ranking Brotherhood female with leadership experience of her own could help ease his many responsibilities as Elder by taking on some of his duties. Furthermore, his advisors would say that the isolation and burden of leadership was unhealthy for a man as young as he, and the companionship of a well-bred woman could only benefit him. Who would not want the warm, soft touch of a willing woman after a long and difficult day?

Unsurprisingly, many of the women being sent were relations of the very Brotherhood members involved in this little scheme. What was surprising was the harried timing of these events. It was as if the higher ranking Brotherhood of Steel members were in some kind of rush… It was almost as if they wanted to ensure blind obedience within the ranks towards Elder Maxson while simultaneously distracting the Elder himself with marriage. It like some kind of invisible timetable had been moved up. To what ends, however, Maxson had no clue.

He shook his head in silent defeat. He was over two decades old, but at this moment Arthur Maxson felt so very young and ignorant.


	6. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the feedback!! Great food for thought. I will be traveling for a week and may not have much computer access so I thought I would get this chapter out before I go :)

Each minute that night felt like a small lifetime.

He lay prone in bed for hours, staring at the intricacies of his ceiling. He’d have slept better if he were going into battle against a fully recuperated Enclave tomorrow.

The Elder supposed he should have felt excited about the arrival of his ‘guests’ in the morning. The idea of a gaggle of suitors throwing themselves at him sounded nice in fantasy. Now that such was becoming a reality, however, all he felt was cold, dripping dread.

He rolled to his side, crossing his arms like a pouting toddler. He wondered why he felt such stabbings of antipathy and dismay. Certainly the council’s manipulations played a hefty role.  Maxson scoffed. He had grown too dependent on his advisers, following their counsel without hesitation. He had whimsically assumed that they served the Brotherhood in utter selflessness. He had forgotten that these Brotherhood members had achieved their positions not just through bravery, but also through guile and ambition.

He could not trust them. Not completely.

At least Quinlan’s latest piece ensured that the bulk of the Brotherhood’s forces were staunchly behind Maxson and not the council. If Maxson resisted their wishes, there was naught much they could do… publicly, at least. But they had their worms, like Quinlan, embedded and writhing within the ranks.  

He rolled once more onto his back, returning a petulant gaze to the ceiling.

The council wasn’t the only thing troubling him.

Arthur Maxson had grown to be a conserved, secluded man. He had almost no experience with women outside of the chain of command. The idea of suitors he did not know intruding on his life made him uneasy. What would he say to them? What would they do together? Would they sense his discomfort and inexperience? Would they take advantage of it? What if he did not care for any of them? What if they were unimpressed with him? What if they merely wished to use him to ingratiate their families into the Maxson line?  What political ramification would ensue once he made his choice? What ramifications would ensue if he didn’t make a choice at all?

Twenty-four hours never seemed so long.

***

Maxson muddled into the mess hall at 0700 drained from anger, anxiety, and tension. The presence of papers scattered throughout the Prydwyn’s desks and tables only heightened his feelings. Not only had Quinlan published his newest work on every terminal, he had even gone so far as to print his manuscript and dump copies on every table aboard the Prydwyn. The dining tables were littered with copies of ‘The Rise of Elder Maxson’, many with bent pages from avid Brotherhood readers.

Naturally, of all of the times Nora could have been present, it had to be this morning that Maxson saw the vault dweller seated in the mess hall. She was sitting across from Ingram, both women’s voices drawling with mild banter and teasing. He tried not to admit that his own heart sank; he barely felt comfortable sitting across from Nora when the vault dweller was alone, let alone with company beyond the likes of Danse.

As if telepathically prompted, however, Ingram rose, pushing Proctor Quinlan’s manuscripts towards Nora, prompting a curt, “Be a good little Brotherhood of Steel sister and read it,” and leaving.

Nora smiled, replying a coy, “Only for you, and only because you upgraded my armor,” before grabbing the document, placing it beside her, and returning to her breakfast.

Maxson hesitated after he grabbed his meal, standing in statuesque in place. He chided himself for not having the courage to even sit next to one woman. Soon there would be five women buzzing around him; what would he do then?

He did his best to stride confidently up to Nora’s table and seated himself across from her. Nora looked up, mildly curious. Her eyes betrayed no reaction, and she casually greeted him. “Morning, Elder.”

“Knight,” he replied curtly.

Maxson assumed the conversation was over and tried to focus on his meal.

“I like your coat.”

Arthur looked up and raised his brow. “What?”

She smiled and repeated herself. “I said I like your coat.”

Maxson was at a loss. This vault dweller was a strange creature indeed.

She continued, apparently amused. “If I defeat the Institute, will you requisition one for me?”

Maxson huffed and betrayed a small smile. “You wouldn’t prefer a promotion?”

Nora smiled. “Nah, just the coat.”

“I will consider it.”

Awkward silence ensued. He felt her eyes wander over him. Her voice was friendly and soft. “Are you alright?”

He clenched his jaw in response.

She hesitated. “I apologize if I am intruding.”

Silence. Nora had dropped the subject and continued eating, but Maxson found himself compelled to answer.

“…I find myself wondering who within the Brotherhood I can trust.”

She met his gaze steadily and smirked.  “I am surprised. Most soldiers onboard think you are the second coming of God. Does this have something to do with the suitors the Citadel is sending you?”

He growled, stifling a blush. “So you have heard.”

“Me and about everyone on the ship.” She shook her head apologetically. “I take it that everyone who is anyone in the Brotherhood is trying to glom onto your family name.”

Maxson grunted in affirmation.

She smirked. “Well, I think you shouldn’t pick any of them.” Her eyes twinkled. “Stick it to whoever put you up to this.”

At that moment Captain Kells approached with his morning report. As the two men discussed and coordinated plans for the day, Maxson caught Nora reading Quinlan’s bloated manuscript. He cringed internally, wondering what the vault dweller would think both of the document and of him, then wondering why he cared what she thought.

Something in her eyes changed as she read. She looked up at Arthur in a way she never had before. Her eyes were wide, her mouth agape. She was alarmed. Nora jostled something in her coat pocket. When Kells turned to leave, she called to Arthur in a strained tone. “Elder Maxson…”

He turned to face her, suddenly nervous about what she had to say. “What is-“

“Maxson to the bridge! Kells to the bridge! Citadel vertibird inbound!” The comm system blasted loudly over his voice.

Maxon’s suitors had arrived.

Nora shook her head and looked down. “Another time then, when we can talk in private,” she said cryptically. She got up to leave, but not before turning to face him once final time. “We are going to try out the teleporter this afternoon. With any luck, I will have infiltrated the Institute by nightfall.” She extended her hand to shake.  “You can trust me, sir.”

His gaze relaxed for just a moment and he found himself clutching her hand with both of his own. He muttered, “I know.”


	7. Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all of the support! Your reactions and thoughts have been a great source of inspiration and motivation. I am also relieved to hear that my more sympathetic depiction of Maxson is not too out of character or boring :) I was able to find some wifi access while traveling to get this chapter out, I hope you like it.

Whiskey was required. A lot of it.

At 2200 hours, Arthur had finally freed himself of his suitors and shuffled to his quarters. He felt physically drained, as if he’d been feasted upon by bloodbugs.

He had the foresight to bark, “No visitors!” to the guards flanking his quarters. They both nodded in tacit understanding.

He threw his jacket away agitatedly. He had aimed for his bunk, but the coat plopped gloomily onto the floor instead. Normally, such disorder would aggravate the young Elder and he would be compelled to quickly remedy the mess; today, he did not even notice the disarray. Instead, he saw flashes of the five suitors he’d met earlier that day. The memories made him grimace.

The women he’d met were hardly harpies, which made his negative reactions to them all the more frustrating.

Andrea Casdin, daughter of Outcast leader turned Citadel Elder Casdin, was not classically beautiful but clearly bright... And yet Arthur could see cold scheming and ambitious cunning behind her coal black eyes.

Beth McNamara, niece of Elder McNamara from the West Brotherhood chapter, was fair and pretty… But she was devoid of any personality and life, like the shed exoskeleton of a molting mirelurk.

Amy Artemis, General Artemis’ daughter, was sculpted and beautiful….But she was also stunningly unintelligent. (This had surprised Maxson, as he had known her father, a knight at the time, as a child in the Citadel. Her father had never seemed so blatantly dim-witted).

Janet Rothchild, granddaughter of Citadel Elder Rothchild, was kind and charming….But she had admitted to Maxson over lunch that she had fallen for another man and was merely here at her grandfather’s urging.

Finally, there had been Laura Bigsley, sister of Citadel Head Scribe Bigsley, who arrived at the Prydwyn embarrassingly intoxicated and was promptly sent to the infirmary.

The whiskey on Maxson’s table was dangerously close to empty. It would not be enough to suffice. Luckily, one of his perks as Elder was access to the locked liquor cabinet in the mess hall. He angrily rummaged for the key and made a bee line for his destination, lest he be intercepted by one of his suitors.

He growled. He should have confined his suitors to their quarters under some pretense of safety.

His pace quickened.

 _Perhaps I am being too harsh_ , he thought. He had gone into the day negatively and could have easily projected his dour feelings onto his suitors. True as such a revelation may be, however, it hardly made him wish to see any of them ever again.

They weren’t right for him, he insisted.

Then who was?

Someone like Sarah Lyons? Or the Lone Wanderer?

....Or Knight Nora?

He snarled at himself. He was being ludicrous.   

The mess hall was largely empty due to the lateness of the hour, with one notable exception.

Paladin Danse was huddled alone in a corner. He appeared haggard and morose, hunched over the table and staring into the distance with a frown etched upon his face.

Arthur abruptly stopped, surprised. Danse was a strong, proud warrior. Maxson had never seen him like this. Curiosity got the better of the Elder. He unlocked the liquor cabinet, grabbed an unopened bottle of whiskey and two glasses, and approached the paladin.

Danse jolted when he saw his superior officer, quickly straightening his rounded back and saluting. “Elder Maxson,” he rasped, his voice betraying surprise and fatigue. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Arthur often saw something of Danse in himself. Both men took their roles within the Brotherhood seriously. It was their life, all they knew. As a result, both men were shrouded in formality and duty.

“At ease, soldier,” Arthur said, waving his hand dismissively. He set a shot glass down in front of Danse. “It looked like you could use this.”

Danse cupped the glass in his large, calloused hands. “Thank you, sir.”

Maxson seated himself across from the paladin, placing another glass down in front of himself. Both men waited silently as Arthur opened the whiskey bottle.

“What is on your mind, soldier?” Maxson asked as he poured Danse an apparently much needed drink.

Danse sighed and slogged the shot quickly before responding. “Off the record, Arthur? It’s about my relationship with Knight Nora.” Arthur immediately perked up, suddenly prickly and hot, but the paladin did not notice.

Instead, Danse traced his finger thoughtlessly traced the rim of his glass. “I am supposed to be her sponsor. I am supposed to be the one leading her. Teaching her.” He looked up guiltily at the Elder. “And yet, more often than not, she is the one leading me. Teaching me.” He poured himself another shot. “And honestly, Arthur? Even when she leads me into missions unrelated to the Brotherhood, I find myself preferring it that way.” He shook his head. “Now with her away in the Institute, I find myself wondering if I’ve let the Brotherhood down.”

Arthur downed a shot, internally denying his own rushed relief that Danse had not admitted romantic feelings towards Nora. Maxson did not answer right away, instead letting the silence hang between them.

Finally, Arthur began. “Nora is…” She was many things to both men. “Unusual. I would not be alarmed if her role within the Brotherhood is also unusual.” Danse’s tense face softened. Arthur continued. “Despite your reservations, you have both performed admirably. So long as you both continue to perform admirably, I am not concerned about the finer details of your interactions.”

Danse’s shoulder’s seemed to sag, an invisible weight lifted. “Thank you, Arthur. It is a great relief to hear you say that.”

Maxson found himself wanting to tell Danse that he wasn’t the only person making strange exceptions for this woman but took another shot of whiskey instead and cringed.

At this point, Ingram and Haylen walked in, Ingram loud and proud while Haylen quietly muttering agreements.

“So I told Teagan he could take his laser rifle and stick it-“ Ingram bellowed, stopping only when she saw Danse and Maxson huddled over a whiskey bottle. “Paladin. Elder. What’s the party for and why wasn’t I invited?”

The whiskey was beginning to work; Arthur found his tongue finally starting to loosen. “You may join us if you wish. I hear the power armor upgrades have been seamless.”

Ingram happily plopped down beside them. “Well there may have been one circuit failure here, a few sparks there, but let’s not muddle in the finer details.”

Haylen quietly seated herself beside Ingram, softly greeting her superiors. “Good evening, Elder.” Her voice softened a bit. “Danse.”

Danse for his part was too block headed to notice Haylen’s slight change in manner, greeting her professionally. “Haylen. How are things at the station?”

She shrugged. “Uneventful. The ghoul attacks have stopped entirely, thanks in large part to you and Nora, I suspect.”

Danse nodded, frowning at the name of the missing woman. “I wonder what she is doing right now.”

Ingram smirked. “If her past actions are any guess, she is probably kicking some synth ass.”

Haylen reached over and clutched Danses’ wrist. “She is fine, Danse. She can take care of herself.”

Danse just nodded solemly.

As if on cue, a large commotion could be heard in the hallway. At first, Arthur dreaded that one of his suitors had done something foolish, but when someone shouted “Knight Nora!” everyone at the mess hall table shot up.

“Told you she was a tough son of a bitch!” Ingram exclaimed. She waved Haylen over. “Come on, Haylen, she might have managed to upload Institute data onto that holotape!” Both women jogged out.

Arthur turned to Danse. “Tell her I want a full report in the morning.”

Danse nodded and saluted. “Yes sir!” He too, quickly departed.

Maxson found himself alone with his whiskey. He did not wish to eagerly bolt to her as well; such would be unseemly for an Elder. Still, at least the brief but welcome company he kept this evening somewhat cancelled out the awkward company he kept earlier that day.

Maybe what he had told Knight Nora earlier that morning had been wrong. Nora, Danse, Ingram, Haylen. Likely even Kells, Cade, and Teagan. Perhaps Arthur Maxson did know who he could trust after all.

In the coming days he would discover how wrong…and right…he was.


	8. Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you had a safe and happy holiday and I hope work/school/etc doesn’t suck too much going back :p

Maxson paced the observation deck like a caged beast. Nora had arrived last night. It was now nearly midday, but she had yet to report. He was now saturated in sizzling sweat, a result of his escalating irritation.

Arthur Maxson was not a man who was used to being kept waiting. 

Nora staggered in around noon, visibly unharmed but teetering in her gait as if she were intoxicated. She clutched a crumpled report in her one hand. Maxson sneered. Nora was a mess.

Nora’s gaze was fixated to the floor like a beaten dog as she slowly slinked up to him. She halted herself unusually far away from the Elder, leaving an awkward gap between them. As her eyes finally lifted to his, he found the reason for her strange actions.

She had been crying.

Even with the large space between them, Maxson could see that Nora’s normally striking eyes were hazy and red from tears. Her face was flushed, slightly swollen, and damp. Nora had evidently tried running her face under cold water to mask the evidence of her state, but to little avail.

Regardless, Nora saluted curtly, and did her best to speak evenly. “Knight Nora, reporting as ordered. I apologize for my tardiness, sir. Cade insisted on a full psych eval after… my time in the Institute.” She leaned forward in an exaggerated manner and extended her arm, attempting to hand over her wrinkled report despite the distance between them.

Maxson just stood there. His anger was quickly re-directed towards himself; he should have possessed the rationality to check his terminal or the infirmary when Nora didn’t show, instead of brooding on the observation deck like a pouting child. More potently, however, were his fresh and intense feelings of discomfort. He ordered legions of armored soldiers into battle without hesitation but found himself unsure of how to approach this single bereaved woman.

He found himself wanting to approach her, to pry, to ask what had happened and if she was alright. He wanted to place his hand atop her sagging shoulder and reassure her that the Brotherhood-that _he-_ would retaliate for any indignities she endured at the hands of the Institute.

But he was the Elder.  He was a leader, not a friend. Instead, he merely stepped forward, grabbed her report, and pretended to look it over.

“I see,” he said stiffly, his eyes uncomfortably lifting from the document to meet hers. “Very well, knight.” He coughed uncomfortably. “Is there anything from your psych evaluation that I should know?”

For a moment she looked off into the distance and it was clear her mind was still reliving whatever recent trauma she’d experienced. Her voice lacked life. “I assume you’ve read my file? The one Danse had written when he decided to sponsor me?”

Arthur merely nodded and added a brief “Yes”. She did not need to know that he had obsessively read and re-read that very document before and after her arrival on the Prydwyn. She did not need not know that he had stashed those pages in his personal chest, intimately close to the Lone Wanderer’s file for easy comparison.

He saw her jaw tighten as she continued. “Then you know that the Institute kidnapped my son and killed my husband.”

“I was aware,” he vaguely admitted, doing his best to stifle any hint of his intimate knowledge of her file. As Maxson recalled, Danse had emphasized Nora’s abhorrence of the Institute and the reasons for her hatred in his report. It was, in Danses’ opinion, one of many details demonstrating why Nora would be an asset to the Brotherhood. 

Nora returned her gaze to the floor. “My son…” Her mouth was open but she appeared at an utter loss for words, as if she physically could not say whatever needed to be said. When she returned her gaze to Maxson, he watched her face harden. She now wore the formal mask many adorned when they spoke with him.

“My son is the Director of the Institute. He has been in charge of…that place…for decades.” She said this as dispassionately as she could, reciting the facts as if they pertained to someone else. “But that…man… is my son in name only.” Her voice finally cracked. “ _My_ Shaun is dead. He died the moment those bastards took him.”

Maxson stood statuesque for several long moments, attempting not to betray the shock of her words. He only managed to spit out a befuddled, “How is that possible?” Finally, he took several silent steps forward. He wanted to say something more, but restrained himself.

“It gets worse,” she continued, attempting to remain neutral in tone despite a rogue tear that streamed down her cheek.

He continued to step forward, closing the gap between them. Maxson, too, had known loss, albeit more literally. His father was dead. Owen Lyons was dead. Sarah Lyons was dead. And the Lone Wanderer was missing, despite all the fruitless time and resources he had used to locate her.

She looked up at Maxson as he now loomed over her. Her voice betrayed a subtle tremor, a combination of grief and rage. “They kidnapped him so they could use his DNA to create the synths.” She scoffed bitterly. “They kept me frozen for another sixty years as their backup sample.”

He acted autonomously, before his mind had a chance to register his own actions. He swiftly dropped her report to the floor, grabbed both of her shoulders, and pulled her to him. Nora had gasped in response, her small frame tensed against him. His arms coiled around her, his face nuzzled her neck, and he muttered the words “I am sorry” before he even realized he had said them.

Before Maxson could realize what he had done, Nora reacted in turn, wrapping her arms around his waist, tightening the embrace. Every nerve seemed to fire in hot excitement.

“Thank you,” he heard Nora sorrowfully whisper.

For all of his rousing speeches and courage in battle, Arthur Maxson now found himself quiet and trembling.   His eyes squeezed shut as raw, suppressed emotions finally coursed through him…

His mind returned in a rapid rush, his eyes bursting back open. What had he _done_?

Maxson quickly pulled back, as though Nora burned to the touch. Nora looked up, flushing and perplexed.

“I…” Maxson found himself at a loss for words. “I am needed on the bridge,” he managed to stammer.

Like a coward, he quickly strode away from Nora, leaving the observation deck. Back turned, all he could manage to say to the vault dweller before he exited was, “Take what time you need”. He could feel Nora’s gaze boring into his back as her left her, but she said nothing in response. 

***

That night, Maxson stared at a blank terminal screen. He had addressed his message to the Citadel leaders. The subject line simply read “Marriage”.

When he started writing, the words came easily. He let his thoughts flow onto the green screen, and promptly sent the message before he could reconsider.

It read:

_Citadel Council,_

_Your initiative concerning the future of the Brotherhood of Steel and the maintenance of the Maxson line is commendable. The continued stability and maintenance of The Brotherhood of Steel is of my upmost concern as well. It is for this reason that I have decided not to currently marry. Should I select a wife within one Brotherhood chapter, resentment and hostility could grow within the other chapters. I do not wish to incite any actions that could once again lead to secession and splintering within the Brotherhood. Therefore, I believe it would be prudent to wait until the Brotherhood of Steel chapters are fully reintegrated and stable before I choose a suitor to marry._

_When that time occurs, I will contact you with my marriage decision._

_Regards_

_Elder Arthur Maxson_

He smirked at his own ingenuity. If the council members could use “the good of the Brotherhood” as an excuse to marry him to one of their relatives, he would use the same excuse not to marry at all.

As he lifted himself off of his chair, he saw his personal chest, mutely judging in the distance.

 _Knight Nora had nothing to do with my decision_ , he silently insisted.

He wasn’t very convincing.


	9. Messages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conspiracy side of my story will be coming more to the forefront as things progress, so a lot of this stuff obviously doesn’t happen in game, but I wish it did!! Some aspects of my story may diverge from the game, so please bear with me and my headcanon :)

Knight Nora was largely gone on assignment the next few weeks. This proved to be both a blessing and a curse.

Maxson felt blessed that time could now pass, allowing sanity and logic to reassert themselves in his mind. However, he was cursed by the intimate memory of his actions and the questions they raised at night. Sufficed to say, insomnia and cold showers had almost become a daily routine at this point.

Nora had been busy recruiting and assisting Dr. Li in the reconstruction of Liberty Prime. The curious coincidence that once again a vault dweller would be storming against a Brotherhood of Steel enemy using Liberty Prime had not been lost on the young Elder. Maxson was not usually one to believe in such quaint superstitions as fate, but this particular coincidence did have an air of luck about it.

As the blackness of night engulfed the Prydwyn, Arthur found himself within his quarters, tasked with the tedious job of checking his terminal. He quickly scanned over his messages.

He smirked. For the fifteenth day in a row, the Citadel council had not responded to his ‘marriage’ communication. He was perfectly fine with that.

A brief knock interrupted his thoughts. _Never a moment’s peace,_ he reflected broodily.

“Come,” he snappily beckoned. As he rose to address his visitor, Knight Nora stood uncomfortably at the threshold to his room.

There was a brief and awkward still silence, where neither moved nor spoke, like strange chess pieces waiting to be played. Nora finally made a motion to salute, ceremoniously saying, “Knight Nora, reporting in.” She was unusually rigid and proper. Apparently, she too had recognized the awkwardness now between them, and decided to fill the gap with Brotherhood of Steel protocol.

Arthur found this change in behavior both relieving and frustrating. While this was how their interactions should be and should have always been, he found himself silently missing Nora’s incessant questions, her peer-like attitude, and her bemused banter. He, too, played his stiff and formal part. “At ease, soldier,” he said colorlessly.

Nora played off of his stolid attitude with her own. “I was told to tell you when Paladin Danse and I would be heading to the Glowing Sea to secure Liberty Prime’s ammo cache. We have a vertibird prepped and ready to depart within minutes, sir.”

Maxson crossed his arms behind his back, trying to ignore his guilt and unease. He silently wished they could go back. He considered apologizing, but found that he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

 _I am a coward_.

Externally, he merely nodded. “You intend to traverse the Glowing Sea at night?”

A sliver of Nora’s personality unburied itself. “We are hoping the cover of darkness will help us blend in with all of the piles of deathclaw shit.” She betrayed a small smile. “Actually, we are helping Scribe Haylen set up a communications point at the edge of the sea tonight. We will head in tomorrow.”

Arthur’s mouth twitched into an almost unnoticeable smirk. “Very well. You are dismissed, knight.”

Nora did not leave. Instead, she paused, adding a weary, “Elder…” She looked to the floor, distressed. “There is something else.”

Arthur felt cold adrenaline pump into his blood. She wanted to talk about their moment together. About his staggering lapse in judgement.

“That morning in the mess hall when your suitors arrived…There was something I wished to discuss with you before we were interrupted.”

Arthur’s jaw visibly unclenched. He was wrong about the subject matter, mercifully. He merely responded, “I recall.”

Nora nodded and sighed, unsure of what to say. “I thought you should know about the…packages I have been receiving.”

Arthur shook his head, unsure that he’d heard her correctly. “What packages?”

Nora seemed to shift uncomfortably. “As you may know, I have been helping the Minutemen establish settlements in the Commonwealth. One such settlement is called Sanctuary. It is where I stay and coordinate Minuteman business when I am not working for the Brotherhood.”

Maxson just narrowed his eyes. He should have forced her to choose a faction, instead of letting her divide her loyalties like some dishonorable mercenary.

But if he had forced her, she might well have left.

“Where is this going, knight?” he asked bluntly.

“I’ll explain,” she quickly insisted. He had never seen her so anxious or edgy before. “Because I spend time in Sanctuary, I have built a house there. I haven’t explicitly advertised this fact in the Commonwealth, but if someone were interested in me it wouldn’t be difficult to find this out.” Her eyes glazed over in thought before refocusing on him. “I am telling you this because, every few weeks, I have been receiving anonymous packages on my doorstep. I have no idea who they are from or why exactly they are being sent.” She shook her head.

Arthur began to feel uneasy. Was Nora being threatened? “Are they dangerous?” he asked.

“No,” she hastily responded, “though they are…strange. At first I thought someone was donating junk to the Minutemen to scrap for parts, but then I began to realize a pattern. They are Brotherhood of Steel items.”

Maxson’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

Nora frowned. “I don’t either, sir. I think it might be some kind of…message, but I don’t know what it means.”

The vault dweller appeared unusually cagey. It troubled Maxson. “Show me these…items when you get back.”

She nodded. “Yes sir.” She promptly left.

Maxson sat at has terminal, ill at ease. Why would someone choose Nora as the recipient of some kind of cryptic Brotherhood message? Furthermore, what was the message? He suspected that Nora knew more than she let on. He should have pressed her.

He found his mind stubbornly dwelling on the subject for the next several days. He became increasingly impatient; he needed Nora to return to question her further. But he would not have the chance. For on the very eve that Nora and Danse were set to return, a much clearer, direr message popped onto Maxson’s terminal screen.

The subject line simply read: URGENT: PALADIN DANSE.


	10. Defiance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May I just say how much I thoroughly enjoyed the comments I received on the previous chapter. Between the ‘Wtf is with those packages?’ and the ‘Oh crap! Blind Betrayal!’ messages, I found your comments great fun to read. Admittedly, it proved difficult for me to write these next couple of chapters from Maxson’s POV since this was the point in game where I considered killing him and stealing his sweet coat, but hopefully I did him some justice.

 

_I am a fool._

Between the anger and denial, this singular thought hounded Maxson’s mind.

“How is this possible?” Arthur snapped. Even as Arthur snarled and barked at the Proctor, Quinlan remained infuriatingly calm.

“I can assure you, sir, the DNA sequences match. We have re-tested them three times.” Quinlan shrugged nonchalantly. “Perhaps we shouldn’t be so surprised. Nora’s son _is_ the Institute’s director, after all.”

It wasn’t possible. Not Danse. Not Nora. Not those closest to him.

His heart writhed like a gnarled serpent.

_I am a fool._

“I want someone else to check!” he barked. Maxson refused to let that eel Quinlan manipulate him, now of all times. “Get Proctor Ingram up here to verify the data. Now!” His jacket cut through the air like a leather whip as he hastily turned and stomped off.

Maxson then stormed onto the bridge and growled at Captain Kells. “Where is Danse?!”

The captain was taken aback. He was a diligent, loyal soldier, unused to facing Maxson’s ire. “We cannot locate him, sir. He discarded his power armor and its internal transponder at the edge of the Glowing Sea. He isn’t at the Cambridge Police station or any other Brotherhood of Steel outposts.”

It was at that moment, Maxson was sure. Danse had never gone AWOL before. He really was a synth.

And Nora had the ground expertise in the Commonwealth to hide him. It was no wonder that Danse had vanished so effortlessly. He winced in invisible agony.

 “Find Danse!” Maxson howled. “And bring Nora to me!”

The soldiers aboard the Prydwyn were deadly still as the predatory Elder exited the bridge marched to the observation deck. Most did not understand his anger. Most did not yet know the truth.

Maxson envied their ignorance.

He would have to make the announcement soon. The thought of admitting to his crew that he had unknowingly harbored a synth for years made bile simmer in his throat. It was shocking, degrading, humiliating. It made the revered Arthur Maxson look oblivious and weak.

 _This is my penance,_ he thought cynically as he viewed the barren landscape below. _This is my penance for my lapses in judgement._

_For keeping those cursed pictures in my quarters when I should have burned them._

_For letting a vault dweller on board my ship._

_For defying the Brotherhood council._

_For considering Danse a friend._

_For desiring that blasted woman._

_For feeling close to anyone at all..._

He clenched his fists with such fervor his knuckles ran white.

_I am a fool._

***

“That’s impossible!”

Nora did not plead. She did not try to explain. She only snarled in blatant, open defiance.

Arthur had never seen anything like it. He was simultaneously astonished and angered.

“The evidence in clear,” Maxson sneered back. “Paladin Danse and M7-97 are one in the same. _It_ is a synth. It always has been.”

He took a step forward looming over Nora like a great beast. “And now it has conveniently deserted.” He leaned in, and hissed. “We can’t locate it.”

Nora kept her eyes locked upon him as he continued, unfazed by Maxson’s incensed voice. “I’m finding it difficult to believe you didn’t know. Danse never told you? Your _son_ never told you?”

Nora shook with raw anger. She pointed her small finger in Maxson’s face. “I am willing to betray my own child for you, and you are calling me a traitor?! You have some fucking balls, _Elder_.” She mocked his title as though it were an insult.

The raw emotion succeeded in softening Maxson’s resolve. Such pure, unrefined resentment could not be fabricated. He felt some small rush of warm relief. “Perhaps I was wrong about you,” he admitted.

She quickly snapped, “You are damned right you are.”

His grimace returned. “Your apparent innocence doesn’t change the fact that Danse is a synth... a blatant, appalling corruption of technology. One that managed to infiltrate our ranks, betray our trust, and make a mockery of everything we stand for.”

His blue eyes pierced though her own. He clenched his gloved hands. “Danse is a liar and a traitor.” Nora returned his gaze, her insolence still tangibly present.

 _She disagree_ s, Arthur realized. She had said nothing, but he knew. _Danse is a synth and she doesn’t care._

He knew what he had to do. He had to test her.

“Therefore I have no choice but to order you to hunt it down and kill it.”

The knight’s face was blank. It was astonishing to believe that not that long ago Maxson actually felt close to this woman. Maxson looked upon her and found a stranger looking back.

They had both placed their trust in Danse and they had both been betrayed. Danse had apparently never revealed his identity to Nora and had now abandoned his charge without notice. Yet somehow these facts changed nothing for Nora. She still cared for him. Maxson hotly wondered why.

Nora crossed her arms, replying levelly and bluntly, “I won’t do it.”

Nora’s insubordination reached a new level. He barked, “You will, knight! I am giving you a direct order and you will follow it!”

Her brows furrowed but she did not reply.

He tried weakly to incentivize her. “Your promotion is riding on this. Complete your mission and you will stand by my side as a Brotherhood of Steel paladin.”

Her narrowed eyes told him exactly where he could stick his promotion. Her mouth, however, replied a curt, “Yes sir.”

She waited stiffly for the Elder to cry “Dismissed!” before quickly exiting.

Maxson turned back towards the bleak wasteland and let out a frustrated groan. He knew Knight Nora hadn’t changed her mind. She was going to betray Maxson after all. She was going to help Danse.


	11. Schism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, relieved to be through with Blind Betrayal! Things will start taking a turn after this chapter, I hope you stick around!

 

Maxson waited until the patter of Nora's footsteps were no longer audible before stomping over to Ingram in the armory. The Proctor was at the far side of the room, dexterously soldering power armor upgrades.

"Proctor," Arthur spat, his patience paper thin.

Ingram whirled around inquisitively. She quickly holstered the soldering iron and saluted. "Elder," she greeted amicably. "What can I do for you?"

His sharp voice cut through the pleasantries. "Do we have an internal transponder embedded in Nora's power armor?"

Ingram replied slowly. "..Yes sir..Why-"

Maxson hastily interrupted. He had no time to indulge Ingram's curiosity. "I would like the transponder codes uploaded to my personal vertibird. Stat."

The Proctor raised a suspicious brow. Arthur half expected the woman to pry or protest; she and Nora had grown friendly after collaborating on the teleporter construction. After a second, Ingram seemed to cut herself off and merely said, "Yes sir. Right away."

Maxson was already walking away, teeth gritted.

Normally, using his personal vertibird was an uplifting exercise. He was, albeit temporarily, free. Free from duty and power. Free from responsibility and expectation. Free from doctrine and pressure.

He often fantasized about commandeering his vertibird and escaping it all for good. He wanted to find some backwater town where the name Maxson held no meaning, where he was no one, where civilians would walk past him and look upon him with mild disinterest.

Perhaps he would find the Lone Wanderer there, nursing some toxic drink in a dingy bar. Maybe she would smirk and squeeze his shoulder and call him 'kid' like she did all those years ago. Maybe she would listen to his ramblings and shake her head in amusement. Maybe they would drink to Project Purity and to their deceased fathers and to the late Lyons family and he would feel just an ounce better.

Now his vertibird would be forever soiled.

Now it would only remind him of anguish and treachery.

***

Maxson could not recall another time when he had had so hated being right.

Nora's transponder had settled on an abandoned listening post for over an hour. If she had gone there to kill Danse, it was taking her far too long.

He leaped out of the vertibird and trotted towards the decrepit building. The wiry brush was obscuring his vision, but he knew what was coming.

When he cleared the vegetation and saw them together, it was even worse than he'd dreaded.

Danse was alive, and Nora was embracing him.

"It looks like I have two traitors instead of one." Venom spewed from Maxson's mouth as he trudged over to clasping pair.

Nora released Danse, showing no evidence of embarrassment or remorse.

Something inside of Maxson ached. "What do you have to say for yourself, knight?" he jeered.

Nora fearlessly stepped forward, placing herself squarely in-between the two men. She betrayed no fear. "Synth or no synth, Danse is one of the finest soldiers-finest men- the Brotherhood of Steel has ever seen. Moreover, he is my friend." Her voice lowered, challenging him. "I won't kill him."

Maxson bared his teeth like a wolf. "Then I will! That _thing_ is a gutless traitor. A spy for the Institute. Its very existence goes against everything the Brotherhood of Steel stands for. It must be destroyed!"

"Nora…" Danse had slinked up behind her. She turned, her face softening to the woman Arthur had once known. "It's okay. I may not have known….but it doesn't change the facts. I am a synth. The Brotherhood of Steel's doctrine is clear; I cannot be allowed to exist." He grasped her hands in his. Arthur's chest constricted. "Our friendship has been invaluable to me. At least I will die knowing what it felt like to be…human."

Nora's face seemed to twist in anguish. She quickly spun around to Maxson, placing her back against Danse's chest. "If you are going to kill Danse, you will have to kill me too."

It was Nora's trump card. Somehow, despite everything, she knew she was his weakness. She had won.

"Fine!" Arthur spat. "Have it your way." He bared his teeth at the synth. "Danse…As far as I am concerned, you are dead to the Brotherhood of Steel. Show your face to any Brotherhood of Steel soldier, enter any Brotherhood of Steel outpost, and you will killed on sight. Do I make myself clear?"

Danse flushed, astonished. "Yes. Thank you, Arthur."

The Elder tensed. "I'm only sparing you... for _her_."

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Nora's face relaxed towards him. She was at a loss for words, but her eyes looked sad.

Arthur took advantage of her sudden introversion to address her. "And you, knight," he uttered in a low, simmering voice. "Say your goodbyes, and then I expect you to report to me immediately." He flashed Danse a final, angry look. "The Institute still needs to be destroyed."

He turned and left them, cynically wondering the entire flight back if Nora was in love with Danse.

Her absence perhaps gave him his answer, for she did not return to the Prydwyn for over two weeks. By that time, the Minutemen had already destroyed the Institute.


	12. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my sincerest thanks to everyone who has followed along, left kudos, and/or wrote comments. You guys are all really great, and I honestly don't know if I would have reached this point in the story without your supportive and motivating feedback. I may take a bit longer to get chapters out because my headcanon is officially taking over. I sincerely hope that is a good thing and you enjoy the direction I take things!

 

At first, when Nora hadn't returned to the Prydwyn, Maxson had privately mourned her absence like a death.

Now that she was finally back, Arthur Maxson loathed her for it.

The Institute had been obliterated two days ago; blown from the inside. Before the reports could even confirm it, Maxson knew who was responsible.

It was Nora and her damned Minutemen. She must have constructed a second Institute teleporter at one of her numerous Minutemen settlements. She'd already gained experience building one teleporter with the Brotherhood, after all. And Danse was probably there to help her.

Curse that backstabbing woman.

His all important mission in the Commonwealth had been pointless. All of the preparations and anticipation and firepower fell flat. Liberty Prime lay dormant in the airport. The vertibirds were silently parked aboard the Prydwyn. Most of the ground troops were still stationed at their posts.

Instead, one vault dweller and her scruffy militia of farmers and settlers managed to do what he, proud descendant of Roger Maxson, could not.

The sizzling crater that once housed the Institute seemed to mock him.

The dust had literally not settled from the explosion before Maxson began preparations for the Prydwyn to depart. He needed to get as far away from this...vexing place as soon as possible. He needed to get as far away from _her_ as possible.

And now, mere days before he planned to depart the Commonwealth for good, Nora had returned. His back was to her on the observation deck, but he could sense her infuriatingly familiar presence.

He did not deign to look at her. He kept himself turned away, his eyes to the horizon, his arms firmly clasped behind him. "You have some nerve showing your face here, _knight_. Or should I say, _general_?" He sneered at her empty titles.

He couldn't see Nora, but her voice was frustratingly smooth. "So you have heard about the Institute, then?"

He couldn't bring himself to reply.

She continued, sarcastically. "I thought you would be pleased. I managed to destroy the entire facility without a single Brotherhood of Steel casualty."

He span about quickly, stomping up to the infuriating woman. A smattering of cuts and bruises decorated her face and hands, but she had apparently managed to destroy the facility while sustaining little harm. What's more, she had discarded her power armor some time ago and instead adorned her ridiculous Minuteman uniform. This only incensed Arthur further. "Why have you returned?" he barked. "To gloat? To mock me? To rub your love for that _synth_ in my face?"

She charged towards him, her fist balled and waving passionately in his face. "You are infuriating!" she scolded, every word a curse. "Did you ever, for a moment, push past your own bigotry and consider what I would have done if the roles were reversed, _Arthur_?!" It was strange to hear her say his first name. It sounded alien. It made his cheeks bloom red. "If _you_ were the synth and Danse wanted me to kill _you_ for the good of the Brotherhood?"

Maxson reeled back. What an odd thing to say.

Nora's voice betrayed anguish. "I would have done the exact same goddamn thing." She shook her head in exasperation. "I would have saved you."

He felt something inside ease. His anger gradually evaporated.

She rummaged into her coat pocket. "I pity you, Arthur," she said sadly. "You are surrounded by enemies you don't even know you have, and yet you throw away your only friends." She winced and looked as though she wished to cry.

She pulled something out of her coat and slammed the object into his hand. "If you ever get past your own blind ignorance...come find me."

He did not watch her leave. Instead, he slowly opened his hand, revealing the metallic object he'd been given.

It was a charred, blood-stained, Brotherhood of Steel holotag. Sarah Lyon's name was engraved on it.

Time seemed to slow. He didn't understand. He thought of Nora's mysterious packages and their cryptic messages.

He sprinted after Nora, desperately pushing past anyone in his way. She was already on the flight deck by the time he caught up. The platform was empty, which was odd. Weren't two guards usually stationed by the door? Why weren't any vertibird pilots in their airships?

Something was wrong.

He dashed towards Nora like a charging bull. Instinct had taken over.

Nora turned, surprised. "Maxson?"

As he pushed her away, he heard the blip of a laser gun.

He then felt his stomach scorch in impossibly hot flame.

He heard Nora call his name, followed by more gunfire.

Darkness overtook him and he collapsed onto the cold, metallic floor.


	13. Anguish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am publishing this chapter a bit less refined than I usually like, but I feel like a monster for leaving the story hanging :) I have been looking forward to redeeming Maxson a bit, as I assume he still has a soft spot for Sarah Lyons. For the plot's sake, I will be saying that laser weapons cause bleeding as well as burning to wounds, just because it makes the storytelling easier.

 

Maxson took almost a half an hour to awaken, struggling and fighting for consciousness through a fog of pain and drugs.

He could feel before he could see. He sensed he was prone on his back atop a stiff surface. He was engulfed in a thick and itchy blanket, not the cool, crisp sheets of his quarters. He also did not feel his usual clothing on; he wore starchy pants and his torso was naked. A small attempt at stirring revealed why. Fiery hisses of pain emanated from his stomach, yelping under a bloodstained mountain of stitches and gauze.

Blood and burning. He had been hit by a laser weapon.

Crazed shards of memory shot through his mind. Argument. Holotags. Running. Gunfire.

He forced his eyelids to creak open, just enough for awful bright light to enter.

He had been attacked on his own ship. The shot was meant for Nora.

His eyes finally managed to open, though his vision was blurry and stung against shrill artificial lighting. His torso scalded in pain with every inch of movement, but he managed to turn in his head to one side. Even half blind, Maxson recognized the Prydwyn's drab infirmary, but could make out no humanoid outlines amongst the hazy beds and indecipherable medical equipment.

His gut clenched. That bullet was meant for Nora. If she wasn't here…

He whipped his head to the other direction.

The source of his anxiety was mere inches away.

Nora was seated in a familiarly uncomfortable metallic infirmary chair. She was leaned back, eyes closed, and arms crossed. Arthur suspected she had been there for some time; her hair was disheveled, her hands were saturated with faded splotches of dried blood, and her feet were propped atop an empty first-aid kit in a vain attempt to achieve comfort. Luckily, she appeared wholly uninjured apart from a few scuffs; he suspected the caked blood she adorned was his own.

It was a strange irony that, not that long ago, their roles in this infirmary had been reversed. He did not know why, but the thought saddened him. Emotions surged through him in waves, and he let out a pained exhale.

Cade's drugs were potent indeed. Maxson's usual reserve and control had weakened considerably.

He attempted to turn towards Nora, but his wound screeched against the stiff cot and he let out a small cry followed by a low string of curses. His yelp caused Nora to stir, her eyelids delicately fluttering as she awoke. She leaned forward, rubbed a hand tenderly behind her lower back, and muttered her own array of curses towards her chair.

Arthur swallowed uncomfortably, silently dreading Nora's reaction when she saw him conscious. They had hardly been on good terms as of late. But when she focused upon him, her eyes glittered and her thin lips curved upwards in a friendly smile. Arthur felt a new, strange ache within.

"Hey there," Nora cooed, leaning over his bedside.

Between the drugs and sizzling wounds, words were proving difficult to form. "You stayed," he was able to mutter.

Nora's smile grew, dimpling her cheeks. "You did take a bullet for me."

He shut his eyes, memories bombarding him. "What happened?" he managed to ask softly.

Her head bowed guilty downward. "It's my fault. I should have been more subtle." She looked up at him, concerned. "I had been asking around, looking up information on Brotherhood of Steel terminals. I guess someone wanted to shut me up."

He suspected he knew the answer but forced himself to ask anyway. "What information?"

Nora wrung her bloody hands. "Information on the death of Elder Sarah Lyons."

Maxson had to close his eyes and swallowed an ache in his throat. The drugs were bubbling everything to the surface.

Nora continued. "I think the packages I have been receiving contain evidence... of how she really died."

Arthur forced himself to exhale slowly. He hadn't felt such unfiltered despair in years.

Nora perceived his agony and proceeded gently. "I know she was your mentor. When she was killed...You never saw her body, did you?"

More awful flashes of memory stabbed at his mind and he looked away. "No," he admitted. He forced his aching body to speak. "I was told she'd been ambushed by super mutants. I pleaded to see the body but was informed that the enemy had used heavy incinerators. Her body was said to be..." He bit his lip forcefully. "...charred. Unrecognizable."

Nora nodded somberly. "That is what I read as well, but it doesn't explain the blood splatter on her holotags...Or the individual laser burns to her power armor." His eyes shot up, intensely blue. Nora apologetically explained. "Last week I received what I think is a piece of her power armor. It was fitted for a female and had an engraving that read 'Lyons Pride'."

She looked to the floor. "I also received a laser rifle that had been tampered with. Components within the gun were missing, which prevented ammo from being properly loaded. Its serial number matches Brotherhood database records for her gun." She scowled. "When she was attacked, she may have been unable to defend herself."

Nora continued, saying what he could not. "I think she was assassinated by Brotherhood of Steel soldiers."

Maxson could not find the will to respond. She looked him over sadly. "You cared about this woman, didn't you?"

For the first time in ages, Maxson could not suppress determined tears. He felt angry and ashamed. Curse Cade and his awful medicine. He did not want Nora to see him like this; to see not Elder Maxson but the boy in the Citadel that blubbered over Sarah's death.

"I loved her," he whispered though howling wounds and coursing grief.

She reached for him and wove her small fingers through his own. She said nothing as tears streamed down his cheeks.

It had been a long time since he'd felt so utterly defeated and drained.

Before sleep could wholly possess him, he felt Nora's free hand brush his moistened face.


	14. Subterfuge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so relieved you all liked my last chapter! I was pretty nervous about releasing it, what with my headcanon conspiracy and trying to make an upset Maxson cry without seeming too out of character.

_They used me._

Several hours of disturbing dreams had morphed Maxson’s sadness into anger. And recognition.

Nora still remained by his side, seated once again in the infamous infirmary chair, but now equipped with a laser rifle she was meticulously inspecting and cleaning. Maxson supposed cynically that Nora’s devoted bedside manner was not entirely altruistic. Any assassin would balk at starting a shootout in the Prydwyn infirmary, especially with Maxson once again present for the attack. Elder Arthur Maxson was the Brotherhood’s prized stallion, after all. He was probably the absolute last person any Brotherhood assassin would want to risk shooting once, let alone twice.

“They used me,”Maxson repeated, this time aloud.

Nora popped her head up from her rifle maintenance, surprised both at Maxson’s consciousness and at his words. “What do you mean?” she asked.

He kept his head askance as he continued, too incensed to face her. “I am the youngest Elder in the history of the Brotherhood of Steel. This was no accident.”

Nora sensed his bitter frustration and gently placed her weapon to the ground as if it were a precious newborn. She leaned in supportively but Maxson kept his gaze stubbornly away. “You accomplished a great deal for the Brotherhood in a very short period of time,” she said diplomatically. “It was only natural to promote you to Elder.”

 Maxson scoffed and turned away. “Lies,” he growled. “I was no more impressive than many of my peers. I should be nothing more than a paladin by now.” He heard the metal chair screech backwards as she knelt nearer. He continued to look away, unable to bear her reaction to his words. His lips snarled as he spoke. “Once Sarah was killed, the council immediately threw me into combat.” He recalled his first battle, the screeching chaos and his own childish fear. “Every feat I accomplished was exaggerated. Every failure I caused was forgotten.”

He clutched the side of his bed with a deathclaw-like grip. “I was paraded about in battle and negotiations as a glorified trophy.”

She attempted to disarm his new-found anger with a delicate hand on his bare shoulder. Maxson stifled a quiver, suddenly very aware that naught but a blanket tucked under his arms hid his naked torso. “You aren’t giving yourself enough credit,” she muttered.

“You’re right,” he bayed. “I can credit myself with harboring Sarah’s murderers all of these years. My actions probably even helped them.”

 She gave his muscled shoulder a small squeeze. “You were a child. How could you have known? What could you have done? If you resisted you might have been killed too.” She smiled. “And I, for one, prefer a world with the revered Elder Maxson still in it.”

She managed to diffuse his rage, and he visibly sunk into the bed. He finally turned his face towards her. “Nora…” he murmured, his stringent voice melting as his face flushed. “I may have failed Sarah, but I will do whatever is necessary to protect you.”

Nora looked at him with an expression so sad he wondered if she might cry. She then snaked her hand from his shoulder, up his tensed neck, and across his bearded jawline. He found himself reciprocating, encircling her dainty wrist in his large, coarse hand. They both became still, their eyes fixated upon one another...

At that moment, Cade sauntered in.

Nora reflexively drew herself away from Arthur as if she’d been forcefully repelled back. She jolted to her feet just in time for Cade to glance up from his notes. The doctor took no notice of Nora’s jerked reaction, instead grinning boyishly as he saw Maxson’s open eyes. “Oh good, you are awake,” Cade beamed. “I am not used to treating patients of your rank, sir. I’ve never felt so much pressure for treating a simple gunshot wound before.”

At that moment, a heavily armed Proctor Teagan emerged and addressed Nora. “Ready to depart, knight?” he asked.

Nora further stiffened her posture and replied, “Yes sir.” She turned to Maxson, bearing a voice of overstuffed formality. “I need to rendezvous with the Minutemen, Elder. I am overdue to report in. Teagan will escort me and pilot the vertibird for additional security. We will return at approximately 02300 tonight.” She turned heel and marched out.

Maxson weakly attempted to sit upright and protest her departure, but hissed in pain as he did so. Cade put a strong hand to his collarbone, forcing him back down. “You shouldn’t try to move, sir. The stitches could tear.” He gingerly lifted Maxson’s infernally itchy blanket and inspected his shirtless torso. “The swelling and bleeding have gone down, which is a relief. The shot also didn’t do any lasting damage to your vital organs. You were lucky, sir.”

Lucky was about the last thing Maxson felt. His stomach seared as if being baked alive and he cursed whatever two-faced bastard had taken the shot. “Have we identified the attacker?” he grumbled.

Cade nodded grimly. “A scribe named Curtin was behind the attack, sir. Nothing particularly notable about him, except that I had diagnosed him with mild depression about two months back. He’d been passed over for a promotion several times and took it personally.” The name Curtin was unfamiliar to the Elder, unhelpful. Cade continued. “He was killed by Nora in the struggle. I examined his body but found nothing of interest. Ingram and Haylen are sweeping his quarters now. Once they report to Kells, he will send a report to the counci-“

“No!” Maxson roared with such fervor Cade reactively stepped back. The last thing Maxson needed was some reckless report by Kells sent to the very people potentially responsible for the hit.  “Tell Kells to delay that report. I will contact the council myself.” Cade just stared wide-eyed at Arthur. This frustrated the incapacitated Elder immensely. “Tell him now, Cade. That is an order! And tell Ingram and Haylen to report to me and only me the moment they find anything!”

 “Yes, sir...” the doctor mumbled, still struck by his superior officer’s vehemence. He brusquely exited.

The situation was bleeding as profusely as the Elder’s wounds. There was no way one inconsequential scribe was behind the attack. Someone or some faction within the Brotherhood with standing and power had incentivized Curtin to perpetrate the attack, likely with the promise of promotion and power if Cade’s assessment of Curtin was accurate.

Maxson, for once, did not have a definitive plan. Subterfuge had never exactly been part of his training.

 _I need Nora_.

He found it, for multiple reasons, difficult to suck in breaths.

***

A combination of threats, orders, and pleading for eight hours had finally worn Cade down, and he warily agreed to transfer Arthur out of the torturous infirmary cot and into his own bed. Before long, Arthur was clothed in awful linen pajama-like attire, wheeled aboard a gurney like a feeble old man, and promptly dumped into his own bed. Cade then unceremoniously shoved an IV in his arm, handed him a communicator for assistance, and chided him to rest.

Maxson just grunted. He had gone from daunting leader to pitied invalid within hours.

Over the course of twenty minutes he slowly managed to raise himself to a slouched position and stare longingly at his terminal. Rumor of the failed attack and injured Elder would rapidly seep past the confines of the Prydwyn and into the ears of the culprits. He needed to get ahead of the scuttlebutt and spin the story to his advantage, but how? What could he possibly say to make the culprits’ identities known? How could he prevent them from fleeing or hiding behind legions of loyal soldiers once they realized their assassination attempt failed? How could Maxson possibly punish influential Brotherhood members without tearing the entire order apart once again?

He was but one crippled man, leagues away from the Citadel, with naught but a computer terminal at his disposal. The task was impossible.

His inner turmoil was interrupted by a hesitant knock on the door. “Come!” he bellowed before scrambling to seat himself despite the ragged pull of his stitches and Cade’s scolding orders. It was Nora, it had to be.

It wasn’t.

Ingram and Haylen slowly entered, clearly alarmed by the Elder’s condition as well as the scowl deepening on his face.

Ingram, the less intimidated of the pair, spoke first. “Elder, Haylen and I have completed our sweep of the attacker’s quarters.”

“And?” he replied quickly, prickling to know more.           

Haylen approached slowly, as if wary of a caged beast. “There were two items of interest, sir. One was a forged schedule on his terminal reassigning the vertibird pilots and guards who were originally posted to the flight deck at the time of the shooting. The second was a damaged holotape hidden at the bottom of a waste bin. It appears to have been deliberately smashed.”

Maxson sensed the gravity of that tape as Haylen’s words clung in the air. “Were you able to repair the tape?”

Ingram nodded gravely. “I was able to recover about half of the recording. It contains verbal instructions for carrying out the hit. The voice in the message was garbled, but we managed to filter it.”

Haylen could not contain herself and blurted, “It’s Quinlan, sir. Proctor Quinlan’s voice is on the holotape.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The unofficial title of this chapter is ‘Cade blocked’ :p


	15. Untarnished

A/N: I keep tweaking my headcanon, so apologies if I am slower to publish. I hashed and re-hashed this chapter. As Mr. New Vegas so eloquently put it, ‘each and every one of you is wonderful in your own special way’ and I don’t want to let you down :)

Chapter 15: Untarnished

Maxson was only surprised that he wasn’t at all surprised.

“It makes no sense,” Ingram’s voice itched with frustration as she crossed her arms. “What does Quinlan gain from killing Nora?”

“Nothing, directly,” Arthur grumbled. “He was likely incentivized, like Curtin.”

“Could Quinlan have framed Danse, too?” Haylen interjected, unable to stifle idealistic hope. “Danse was Nora’s partner. Getting him out of the way made Nora an easier target.” Her voice increased in volume and tempo, an excited crescendo. “He could have manipulated the holotapes to make Danse look like a synth.”

“No,” Ingram bluntly cut in. Haylen seemed to shrink two inches. “Nora gave those tapes directly to me, and I made copies before I let that puffed up weasel anywhere near the data. I also double checked Danse’s DNA sequences myself using the original holotape.” She scoffed. “It’s the one thing, the _only_ thing, I know Quinlan wasn’t lying through his teeth about.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched shut like a trap. Curtin, Danse, Quinlan. Three betrayals within three weeks. It was a disgrace. And Maxson knew he’d uncover more treachery in the days to come. How many more gutless worms would come wriggling to the surface once he dug deep enough? Where would it end?

Haylen lowered her head like a sullen child. “What do we do now?” she asked.

Arthur allowed himself a brief fantasy in which he punched Quinlan’s smug face until it bowed concavely into a pulpy mess. Such an action would be imprudent, especially if Quinlan proved to be the lapdog of more powerful Brotherhood members... but damn if it didn’t sound satisfying.

“Nothing, for the moment,” Arthur eventually replied. Both women’s heads snapped towards him in surprise. He elaborated, attempting to check his temper. “I don’t want Quinlan to flee or destroy evidence.” He pointed authoritatively. “Ingram, find a way to hack Quinlan’s terminal. Collect what evidence you can and determine if he collaborated with others on this attack. If so, find out who.”

Ingram nodded grimly. “Yes sir.”

He turned to Haylen, who winced slightly as he barked orders at her. “Haylen, tell Kells I want security on this ship doubled until further notice. I won’t allow more blood spilled on my ship!”

Haylen nodded, intimidated by the Elder’s unfiltered anger. “Yes sir,” she managed to evenly reply.

His blue eyes seemed to glow white hot as he addressed the two soldiers. “You are to tell no one of your discoveries concerning Curtin or Quinlan. Return to me once you have something. Not before.” His voice was low and grim. “Dismissed.”

Both women quickly exited, ominously booming the metallic door behind them.

Maxson found himself slouching against his bed, the revelation about Quinlan feeling like a lead weight bearing down upon his chest. He suddenly felt a wave of nausea crash upon him. He attempted to push past his ill feelings, and slowly slid off of his bed. Each step forward felt like sloshing through wet cement, but he _had_ to get to his terminal. Things were developing too quickly. Quinlan had likely informed his handlers about the failed assassination attempt and Maxson’s unintended shooting. Maxson needed to write something, anything, before his enemies fled or hatched new plots.

He slowly gained distance from his bed but neglected to remember the IV still embedded in his arm. As he trudged forward, the IV suddenly grew taught and harshly tugged him backwards before flying free. The Elder found himself abruptly off balance, too weak to prevent himself from twisting and falling. With a clumsy thud, he found himself kissing the floor, his gunshot wound shrieking as several stitches popped. He barely managed to flip onto his back like a bloated, beached fish. He gingerly wriggled out of his shirt, softly prodding and inspecting the heaping gauze on his belly.

It was at this moment, half naked and collapsed, that a knock rapped at his door.

“Not now!” he cried in anger and pain. He didn’t need for anyone under his command to see his sorry state.

Nora entered anyway.

Her eyes grew wide, and with an exclamation of “Oh shit!” she dashed to his side with a speed he had never seen. She quickly knelt beside him whipped her arms under his and around his rippling back. With a strength Arthur had underestimated, she forcefully heaved both of them to a standing position, muttering between gritted teeth, “And I thought Danse was heavy…”

He felt her arms contract tighter against him as they both hobbled to his bedside. Perhaps ironic due to her smaller size, but her taught embrace felt secure and protective, somehow.

Nora did her best to slowly and gently seat them onto the edge of the bed, though they both instead collapsed with a comical plop. Their backs lay sprawled atop his mattress, their legs dangling off of the bed’s side.

Maxson found Nora’s head resting on his shoulder, warm and tingly against him. Both seemed to sense the new closeness of the situation and resolved it by remaining utterly still. Naught could be heard but their shallow breaths.

Arthur found himself frustrated by his own trepidation. On those undisciplined nights when he allowed his fantasies to unfold, he’d imagined himself strong and forward, dominant and confident. Not like now. Not wounded and inexperienced and reluctant.

It was Nora who made the first movement, lifting her head and twisting to face him.  Her eyes were impossibly deep, her mouth slightly agape, unsure. She placed a single hand upon his bare chest with such feathered delicacy he almost thought he’d imagined it. He felt his cheeks reactively flush.

He found his courage and placed a calloused hand against her cheek. It was as silky and soft as he’d imagined. He let his fingers slowly glide and stroke her face. “Nora...” he heard himself whisper, his commanding voice now suddenly cracked and wavering. She let out a soft exhale in response to her name and lowered her face to his.

Their lips seemed to hover apart for several aching seconds until finally, gently meeting. His chest bloomed in warmth, his lips enflamed. Their kiss was not as he’d imagined it. There was no animal hunger, no roughness, no fervent clawing of bodies. It was impossibly slow and tender and fragile.  

It also would not last. As Nora’s chest lowered onto his own, pools of his blood saturated his bandages and seeped onto her clothes. She abruptly raised herself in surprise. “Oh God!” she cried, her hand suddenly pressing on the soaked gauze atop Maxson’s belly.

“Cade!” she screamed as she bolted towards the door. Crimson droplets tracked her exit.

Arthur closed his eyes, his strength slipping away. The thought was childish, but he found himself thinking that if he really did die now, at this moment, then that would be okay.

He recalled Nora’s touch as blackness overtook him.

***

“With all due respect, Elder, you are the worst goddamn patient I have ever had,” Cade scolded.

It was 1900 the next evening. Maxson awoke with a full night and day missing. In that time, Cade had managed to stem the bleeding and redress his wounds, losing his patience and wits in the process.

 For his part, Arthur could say little between his gritted teeth as he lay prone in bed. Either out of necessity or spite, the good doctor had neglected to administer any additional painkillers.

Nora could not hide an amused smirk at the doctor’s flabbergasted comment. “He really is the worst,” she teasingly agreed.

Nora was once again sprinkled with Maxson’s dried blood and seated, albeit this time she was across his room at his personal terminal. She had drafted and sent his report to the Brotherhood senior members, largely to deter Maxson from moving again. The message she helped formulate was curt and simple. It read:

_Brotherhood Council and Senior Members,_

_You may have heard unconfirmed reports concerning an attack on my life. While these rumors are true, I wish to assure you that I am alive and not permanently damaged. It appears that Scribe Curtin, a disgruntled and deranged Brotherhood member, wished to retaliate against me after I deemed him unfit for promotion. He was killed in the attempt and we believe at this time that he acted alone out of self-interest._

_We do not require additional reinforcements at this time. I will keep you informed should new developments arise._

_Regards,_

_Elder Arthur Maxson_

Whether the message would allay the perpetrators’ suspicions and buy them the time they needed remained to be seen. At the very least, it would keep Maxson on the better side of the propaganda machine. He suspected his popularity would be a crucial weapon he would need to wield against his enemies in the days to come.

Cade wiped his sweaty, strained forehead. “Elder or no Elder, if you try something so bone-headed again, I will strap you to a gurney for the next week.”

Nora could not stifle a smile as Cade angrily stomped off and exited. “You are going to drive that man to drink,” she jested.

The stitches seemed to pull at Maxson’s skin, the pain turning his mood foul. “He can gain access to the liquor cabinet for his trouble,” he grumbled.

There was another knock at the door.

“Come in!” beckoned Nora.

“Leave me!” hissed Maxson.

Ingram entered with trepid confusion at Maxson’s less than gracious admittance.  “Sir...” she eyed Nora with confusion. “I have that...report you wanted.”

He sighed and raised a disarming hand. “Proceed, Ingram. You can tell both of us.”

“Tell us what?” Nora asked.

Ingram drew a file. “Quinlan ordered the assassin, Curtin, to carry out the hit. I was able to hack our favorite Proctor’s terminal earlier today. The meticulous bastard always dines from 1800-1900 on the dot. I had plenty of time to go through his terminal and restore deleted messages.”

Maxson could not contain his excitement. “What did you find?”

“He was in contact with some Brotherhood group calling themselves ‘The Untarnished’.”

Nora rolled her eyes. “Untarnished, as in, steel…I assume? How original. You can bet that they are Brotherhood, alright.”

Ingram, shrugged. “Stupid names aside, I don’t know who they are. I can tell you based on the proxy servers their emails are coming from the Citadel, though. Haylen is trying to trace whose terminals specifically the messages were being sent from.”

Ingram paused. Maxson attempted to sound encouraging, but sounded impatient. “What is it Ingram?”

Ingram pursed her lips “These Untarnished are apparently cozy with the council and the western Brotherhood chapter. They promised Quinlan a promotion to Head Scribe and a transfer to the Mojave in exchange for Nora’s life.”

 


	16. Loyalty

 

“I have a plan. You aren’t going to like it.”

Nora casually placed her boots atop Maxon’s desk and leaned back in her chair as she spoke.

Maxson craned his neck to see her, not daring to move his body lest Cade unsuspectingly popped in. “That hardly inspires confidence,” he grumbled.

Nora leaned forward and stood in response to his sullen answer. She began restlessly prowling around Maxson’s room as he had done on many a sleepless night. “Here is how I see it. We have two leads: Quinlan and the anonymous delivery person.”

“I agree…” Maxson’s voice was strained.

She continued to walk around, reciting a strategy she’d clearly mulled over. “Quinlan is well connected and almost never alone, thanks to his little army of scribes. We’ll need to come up with some excuse to get him isolated and off this ship. We can then capture him and interrogate him somewhere remote, somewhere where the Untarnished can’t get tipped off.”

Arthur’s tone remained skeptic and edgy. “…Alright….”

She stroked a hand against her chin, intellectually. “I think Sanctuary would work. I can modify one of the houses into a brig for Quinlan and use the Minutemen as guards.”

Arthur’s patience was evaporating. She was taking her damn time laying everything out, padding and rationalizing everything to soften the blow against the soon-to-be ‘unlikeable’ portion of the plan. His words started to sound like bestial rumbles. “Acceptable…”

She continued to pace energetically as she spoke. It was grating on his nerves. “Meanwhile, I will be busy tracking down the package sender. I will need to go alone, no Brotherhood support. This person has been lugging around evidence against the Brotherhood of Steel, and I doubt they will trust me if I fly down in a vertibird in full power armor.”

His fists balled in aggravated tension. “I’m not sure where you are taking this...”

She finally stopped, staring unflinchingly into his eyes. “While I am away, we will need someone to oversee Quinlan’s interrogation and report back on my progress. Someone else who has experience working with the Minutemen _and_ the Brotherhood of Steel.”

Her words slapped recognition in his eyes. “Nora…” he growled a low warning.

“I think you need to reinstate Danse.”

Arthur wasted no time shouting in protest. “You are being preposterous!” he bellowed. “The man embodies everything-“

She held up her hand impatiently. “Yes, yes, I still remember your speech.”

“Then you know why I can’t,” he huffed, crossing his arms.

 Nora rolled her eyes dramatically. “Look, I am not saying that you officially reinstate him right away. But you cannot deny that he has proven himself time and time again. Before you knew he was a synth, had he ever done anything- any single thing- to betray your trust?”

Maxson sighed but did not answer.

“And I’ll tell you this.” She kneeled down beside the bed, her eyes fixated upon his. “The day we took down the Institute, he was right there, by my side. Killing the very people that made him. Killing other synths.” She must have seen his eyes weaken, for she pressed forward. “If that doesn’t demonstrate his loyalty beyond a shadow of a doubt, what would?”

This woman would drive him to madness, he was certain of it. “Nora…” he snarled again.

“He’s lost, Maxson.” She changed tactics, her voice seeping with sympathy. “I’ve tried to induct him into the Minutemen, but I see it in his eyes every time I look at him. Synth or no, he is still every inch a Brotherhood of Steel soldier. Being banished...it’s killing him.”

He felt his hard heart crack slightly. “He may relay your messages and assist in the capture and interrogation of Proctor Quinlan, but that is _it_.” He scowled. “He may have earned your trust, but the moment he ran he lost mine. I can’t reinstate him with his loyalty still in question.”

“You were shot by a Brotherhood of Steel scribe while a proctor plotted behind your back. I think it’s time you re-evaluated your so-called loyalties,” she snapped. She seemed to acknowledge the ferocity of her own voice and attempted to cool herself. “Elder, you are down a paladin and a damned good one at that. We are fighting an enemy at the very top of the Brotherhood food chain. We need all the help we can get. Not to mention that Danse was popular, and many of the soldiers on board are questioning your decision, synth or no synth.”

The woman was infuriatingly persuasive, he had to give her that. “I had intended to promote you to take _its_ place,” he grumbled.

“I refuse the promotion,” she quipped quickly, her hands whipping onto her hips. “I can’t take Danse’s place. I won’t.”

“Why are you so fond for that...thing?” he barked, hotly. “It betrayed you as surely as it betrayed me. It deserted you, its partner, without warning! If Danse truly was a _man_ of the Brotherhood, he would have had the honor to face me when he learned the truth.” He sucked in a breath before continuing his lecture. “But instead that synth hid underground like a coward.”

Nora changed tactics, replacing agitation with sadness. “How could I not be close to him? He was my partner. He saved my life on a weekly basis. That time I was in the Prydwyn infirmary? I would have been blown to bits by a missile if Danse hadn’t pushed me out of the way.” She sighed, attempting to compose herself. “All that I ask is that you work with him this one last time. If he doesn’t prove his loyalty again, then I will drop the subject for good.”

“Fine,” he replied irascibly.

“Fine.”

The animosity in the room stewed in silence.

Haylen’s timing couldn’t have been better. She burst through the door, huffing, “Bigsley! Head Scribe Bigsley!”

Arthur’s patience had left him long ago. “Calm yourself, Haylen,” he chided.

“Sorry sir,” she said between huffing breaths. “It’s just, I figured out where the messages to Quinlan were coming from. Head Scribe Bigsley’s terminal in the Citadel!”

Maxson frowned. The few times he’d met the man, he came across as a distraught, disheveled mess. He could barely handle whatever role was thrust upon him, incited bickering with whomever he worked with, and had an air of eternal gloom. The man could barely comb his hair, let alone assist in a conspiracy. Plus, he had little to no direct connection to the western Brotherhood chapter.

And yet…

He recalled Bigsley had never hidden his resentment for the Lyons family. He’d said as much to Arthur as a child. When Bigsley had discovered Sarah was his mentor, he snidely remarked to the young boy that the Lyons were “charity workers” who were “bleeding the Brotherhood dry” by giving the clean water created by Project Purity away for free. He also claimed he wanted to “murder half of the bitchy whiners” he was forced to work with. Arthur had never taken the frazzled man seriously before…

Nor had he wondered how such a hysterical man managed to become Head Scribe of the Citadel…

“You are certain?” Maxson asked.

“Oh yes,” affirmed Haylen without a hair of doubt. “Though I don’t think he is the leader of these ‘Untarnished’. Based on Quinlan’s terminal entries, he sounded more like the go-between between Quinlan and someone else.  Bigsley kept saying he would have to ask for permission when Quinlan negotiated his..er…promotion.”

Arthur felt palpitating excitement. “Do we know who the leader is?”

Haylen shook her head. “Bigsley just referred to him as ‘that overbearing old windbag’.”

Arthur growled. “That describes half of the Citadel council members.”

Haylen just shrugged, replying, “I will keep digging, Elder.”

“Dismissed.”

Tense silence once again rush into the room as Nora and Arthur once again found themselves alone.

Nora stood and looked towards the door. “I’d better go. It’s getting late.”

His anger bubbled back. “Running back to Danse?” he spat.

Nora snorted. “No. Not that it is any of your business.” She started to walk away.

As if reflexively, he hastily grabbed her wrist. “Wait!” he cried. She snapped her head back towards him, her eyes widening in surprise. The both seemed to freeze and just stare at one another, the desperation of his words catching them both off-guard. He forced himself to breathe and settle down for a moment. His next words were much quieter. “Don’t leave.”

Nora seemed to understand the weight of his words and seemed to look through him. Her eyes glittered as she asked, “That an order, Elder?”

The jest did not amuse him. He turned his head slightly away and looked away. “No. Not that you consider yourself a member of the Brotherhood any longer.”

The vault dweller turned and knelt beside him once more. Her eyes seemed impossibly deep. “I never left, Maxson. I could have. I wanted to. But I knew I had to come back.”

His eyes darted back to her, though he kept his face askance. “Arthur,” he murmured.

Nora cocked her head. “What?”

Sadness betrayed his tremored voice. “My name is Arthur.”

She smirked and laid her hand atop his. “Okay, Arthur.” His name sounded oddly wistful when she uttered it.

She nodded at the nearby chair. “Are you really going to make me sleep in another awful chair for the night?”

His fingers entwined with hers. “Sleep beside me tonight.”

Nora’s thin brow perked up. “If you tear anything, Cade will throw me off the Prydwyn sans vertibird and strap you into bed for a month.”

“I...” He swallowed. Expressing his emotions was hardly his forte. “I only want you nearby.”

He tugged her towards him. She did not resist. She gradually eased into his bed and tenderly slid up against him, touching his bare torso delicately as if he could shatter. She looked up at him for a moment, her warm, bottomless gaze a stark contrast to his own icy irises.

His chest clenched, and his remaining anger dissipated with a nervous exhale. When he dared to wrap an arm around her, she let him.

 As she stroked his arm in return, he found himself squeezing his eyes shut.

He was Elder Arthur Maxson.

The resolute, ruthless leader of the Brotherhood of Steel.

He was elevated, isolated, burdened.

Close to no one.

Until now.

As he felt Nora’s nimble fingers glide along his skin, he said nothing.

But he knew.

He was in love with her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter where writing Maxson was difficult because he is being an asshat :p I tweaked this chapter a few times so my apologies for any typos, etc.


	17. Interrogation

 

When Maxson managed to fully awaken, she was gone. Only Cade remained, prodding ceaselessly at his wound.

The Elder did not blame her for departing. Cade informed him that he’d been unconscious for nearly two days.

But Maxson had left much unsaid. The regret gnawed at his chest, a new invisible burden that he would have to carry in silence.

Now Nora was alone in the treacherous Wasteland, hunting an entity with cunning, resources, and unknown motivations. She was almost certainly in danger.

“Would you stop that?!” Maxson roared as Cade poked one of his stitches. The poor undeserving doctor stuttered a startled apology and hastily left.

Being alone only strengthened Maxson’s petulance.

He groaned and sank further into the recesses of his bed.

He hated how much he missed her.

***

 Time seemed to blur over the next week. Consciousness seemed a battle he was constantly losing, to Cade’s apparent pleasure. Maxson suspected barbiturates constituted a significant portion of his medication, in addition to unnecessarily high doses of Med-X and even rare super stimpacks.  By the week’s end, Maxson’s wounds had healed at a demi-god-like pace.

 _The puppet of the Brotherhood deserves nothing less,_ he found himself sulkily reflecting.

 Eventually, Maxson was allowed to hobble along the Prydwyn and regain a fraction of his duties. This return to form proved dangerous for the Elder’s mental health. Arthur found himself wanting to wring information from Quinlan like a sponge whenever the odious Proctor passed by. The struggle to keep up formalities proved excruciatingly difficult.

After several more days, when his mind and body had regained rigor and clarity, Maxson was formally discharged from Cade’s hovering care. The Elder wasted no time. He informed his crew he intended to aerially survey Brotherhood outposts along the Commonwealth in his vertibird.

Instead, the Elder found himself heading to a single dreaded destination.

He was going to Sanctuary to meet Danse.

The crisp, clear flight through the clouds contrasted with the Elder’s own gloomy and uncertain thoughts. Today marked the anniversary of the Prydwyn’s departure from the Citadel. It was difficult not to reflect, especially given his current destination.

A year ago, he’d have balked at any hint of conspiracy within the Brotherhood.

A year ago, he would not have spared any synth’s life.

A year ago, he never would have fraternized with one of his subordinates.

His fingers itched to turn the vertibird around, but something within stubbornly willed him onwards.

A year ago, he hadn’t met Nora.

As his vertibird touched down on the outskirts of Sanctuary, the town appeared lifeless and abandoned. As he approached on foot, however, he noted the hidden turrets and fortified guard towers. Faces bobbed from barricades and windowsills. There was even some kind of large cannon smack in the middle of the complex. How someone had managed to sneak packages into this place undetected was a mystery indeed.

Maxson took slow, prudent steps on the main road towards Sanctuary. No one approached him at first. Eventually, a lone figure approached. The sun glared in the Elder’s eyes, but the bulky silhouette was unmistakable.

Danse was still adorned in power armor, the only attire the man apparently every felt comfortable wearing. The suit he’d now assembled was significantly older and clunkier than his former Brotherhood of Steel power armor set. Danse had evidently scrapped various pieces of used and discarded power armor and reassembled the fragments into a kind of Frankenstein-like monstrosity. His posture had changed too, not the confident strutting paladin of years past, but now a sluggish, scowling beast with the façade of a beaten dog.

Both men quietly strode up to one another before stopping and sizing the other up. It was difficult to imagine that both men had once been friends.

Danse spoke first. “ _Arthur_...” The so-called greeting sounded more like a reproach.

Maxson responded in kind, crossing his arms agitatedly. “Danse.”

Silence.

Danse made the first move, spinning about his heel and walking towards the town. With obvious hesitation, Maxson slowly followed. “We have fortified this building here,” Danse said vacantly, his arm extended towards a nearby barricaded house. “It should serve as a make-shift cell for Quinlan.” They entered the shabby building. Not an ounce of sunlight pierced the interior.

Arthur blurted the question that had been his motivating force for coming. “How is No-“ He coughed and corrected himself. “What is Knight Nora’s status?”

A strange expression passed between the two men. Both felt a brief softening in response to her name, followed by defensive glances to ensure the other man did not see. “She’s fine, Arthur,” he said simply. “She has tracked the stranger east. She suspects he or she may be en route to a town called Goodneighbor.” Danse shrugged. “Nora and I have traveled there before. It is a prime location for drifters and refugees alike. If Nora’s target wishes to hide and maintain anonymity, Goodneighbor is an optimal location to do so.”

The exchange was bizarre in its familiarity. It felt as though Danse were merely delivering another report to Maxson. Both men seemed to acknowledge this odd nostalgia and tensed.

Danse attempted to shake off the feeling and continue. “When will you deliver Quinlan?”

The name alone made Maxson seethe. Danse must have sensed it, for he took a step back. “I’ll send him tomorrow,” the Elder bluntly replied.

Danse raised his dark brow. “Quinlan is no fool. How will you get him off the Prydwyn without drawing suspicion?”

Maxson curled his lips, letting bitter anger flow. “I will play into his insufferable ego.” Maxson’s icy eyes met with Danse’s. “I’ll tell him we found a prototype weapon leftover from the Institute, and we need his expertise in disarming and transporting it.” He looked at the make-shift brig. It would have to do. “I will tell him that Ingram and I will accompany him to oversee the effort. I will deliver him to you personally.”

Danse frowned. “Do you think he will talk?”

Maxson turned his back to the former paladin and stomped away, merely replying, “He will talk. I will accept no less.”

***

“I don’t know, Elder!” shrieked Quinlan in his dark, stuffy cell. Danse and Maxson were opposite the cowering old man, while Ingram was coolly posed against a corner.

“Ask that monstrosity,” Quinlan spat, pointing to Danse. “He is the traitor in our ranks, not I!”

Arthur’s patience was melting. He took three large strides forward and forcefully grabbed Quinlan by his sweaty shirt collar. “You always were a conniving little weasel. We know you organized the hit on Nora. Your little minion, Curtin, had a holotape. Your voice was on it. We also know you negotiated with Bigsley on your farce of a _promotion_.” He snarled. “Tell me who leads the Untarnished or I will kill you where you stand.”

“Enough, Arthur,” Danse warned, coming up behind him. “He is no good to us dead.”

Maxson released the quivering Proctor, who took several trembling steps back before tripping and falling. He remained in a sniveling ball on the ground.

“I’m inclined to agree with the Elder,” said Ingram blankly with her arms crossed. “The man is a two-faced roadroach. Any information we wring from him will probably be lies anyway. Better to put him out of his misery.”

“I don’t know!” Quinlan cried between shivers and heaves. He wavered like a drunkard as he raised himself up. “I only communicated with Head Scribe Bigsley!”

Arthur raced towards Quinlan again, forcing the Proctor to back into a wall. The Elder’s face was an inch away from his foes’. “But you suspect you know who their leader is, don’t you?” he growled, baring his teeth. Quinlan remained quiet and shivering, which only incensed Maxson further. “DON’T YOU?!”

“Yes,” Quinlan quickly replied between shaky breaths.  “One of my former scribes is posted at the Citadel. I had her follow Bigsley.”

Maxson grabbed Quinlan’s face with his large gloved hand. He’d had quite enough of Quinlan’s vague rhetoric for one lifetime. “Tell me what you discovered!” he boomed. He drew his plasma pistol with his free arm and aimed it to the side of Quinlan’s damp head. Arthur’s voice lowered in feral warning. “Tell me now.”

“Casdin!” Quinlan shrieked. “Biglsey regularly met with Elder Henry Casdin!”

Arthur quickly released Quinlan and he fell to the floor again, coughing and crying.

Danse turned to Arthur. “The former leader of the Outcasts? Could he really be behind the attacks?”

Arthur frowned. “Possibly. He bore no love for the Lyons when he seceded and founded the Outcasts. His involvement, however, would not explain connection the Untarnished have to the west.”

Quinlan spoke through heaves and sobs. “You must believe me! You have t-“

Ingram struck him from behind with the butt of her gun. “Always wanted to do that whenever Quinlan ran his mouth,” she said with a smirk.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked my rendition of good cop, bad cop, Danse/Maxson edition :)


	18. Outsiders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the continued feedback/kudos/bookmarks and general support! Now we are but one chapter away from meeting the mysterious package sender!

 

Mere seconds later, a loud clanging could be heard from outside of the makeshift brig. A male voice yelled with unhidden urgency. “Danse! Danse!”

“You may enter, Preston,” Danse beckoned with a familiar air of authority.

A young black man with a strange hat entered. The man glanced warily at Maxson and Ingram then at Quinlan’s huddled, incapacitated form. Preston drew a cautious scowl. “Is he going to be alright?” he asked suspiciously.

“He might have a concussion,” Ingram noted casually. “I did whack the bastard pretty hard.”

Danse merely nodded at the stranger and said, “Continue, Preston.”

Preston handed Danse a shoddy note, torn from the tattered pages of a pre-war book. “It’s a report from Nora,” Preston explained.

“Care to enlighten us?” asked Arthur impatiently.

“Nora has tracked her target to Goodneighbor,” Danse said as his eyes scanned the sheet. “But her target is evidently aware of the fact. Last night a drifter delivered a holotape to her. The voice on the tape congratulated her tracking abilities, alluded to the packages, and supplied a time and date for a meeting.”

“When?” barked Maxson.

Danse looked somberly at his former superior officer. “2200 tomorrow at the Third Rail. It is a bar in Goodneighbor.”

“I need to be there,” Arthur spat.

Ingram furrowed her auburn brows. “I don’t know if that’s a smart idea, Elder. Reports I got out of Goodneighbor were nothing but bad news. Ghouls, addicts, criminals, the works. And a lotta folks there have no love for the Brotherhood. If they find out who you are...”

“I’ll accompany him,” Danse interjected.

“I will disguise myself as a civilian,” Arthur insisted. “Commonwealth citizens may have heard of the Maxsons, but I doubt they could identify one on sight.”

“I still don’t like it...” Ingram drawled.

Danse scratched his chin. “Nora knows the mayor of Goodneighbor. He could ensure a certain degree of security when the meeting occurs.”

“No offense, but rumor has it Nora has cozied up to some pretty sketchy characters,” said Ingram warily, crossing her armored arms. “One vertibird pilot spotted her running with a super mutant a while back.”

“That is true,” Danse conceded. “But there is one thing her companions all have in common, human or not.” Danse’s dark gaze fell onto Maxson. “Their loyalty to her is beyond reproach.”

Both men continued to lock eyes onto one another in a kind of silent challenge. “I am going,” said Maxson gruffly. “That is final.”

“Fine,” sighed Ingram. “But I am coming with you.”

Danse turned back to the shoddy brig behind him. “What about Quinlan?”

Arthur scowled, rummaging through his coat. He produced a holotape. It had once contained the very Institute data that had implicated Danse. He smacked it into Danse’s oversized hand. “You wish to prove your loyalty once more, ex-paladin?”

Danse’s eyes widened at his former title.

“Produce a confession from Quinlan before I arrive tomorrow at 1600. Then kill him.”

Danse frowned. “You never did like getting your hands dirty, Arthur.”

The synth was right. Quinlan had always been a slimy eel, but Arthur did not revel in the thought of shooting a former comrade. Danse’s point did not, however, change his mind. He pointed a finger accusingly to the synth as he spoke. “If your loyalty truly lies with the Brotherhood-and with Nora- then you should consider it a duty and an honor to execute her would-be killer.”

Ingram tipped her head approvingly at Maxson. “I suppose it’s gotta be done. Doesn’t matter who does it. Every day Quinlan lives is a day he might escape and tip the Untarnished off.”

Arthur turned to leave, but not before addressing the Danse. “You have your orders.”

As Arthur and Ingram soared away, Maxson resentfully reflected that he’d done as Nora had asked. He had given Danse another chance, albeit a grim one, to regain Arthur’s trust. She could not begrudge Arthur if Danse did not have the gumption to kill the man who’d plotted her own assassination.

To Arthur’s surprise, when he returned to Sanctuary the next day, Quinlan’s voice filled the holotape…and his bloody body lay tucked within a shallow grave. Danse stood over the body, his face hollow, forlorn, and grim.

As Danse, Ingram, and Maxson departed to Goodneighbor, Preston’s tiny form could be seen below filling Quinlan’s grave.

***

The place was filthy.

Goodneighbor was every bit the dingy cesspool that Arthur had imagined. Homeless roamed the streets aimlessly, addicts shot up in alleyways, and an array of bizarre ghouls, robots, and humans meandered through the streets.

Arthur had landed his vertibird two miles from the city entrance. Even that was, evidently, too close for comfort. He hoped his beloved ship would be more than scrap metal by the time he returned.

“Welp...I regret my decision,” muttered Ingram.

Ingram, Danse, and Maxson looked entirely too prim and clean. They wandered in, guns at the ready, appearing every bit the uncomfortable soldiers they were.

“Look at ‘em!” came a grated voice. “Good to know every Brotherhood soldier has a standard issue stick up their ass.”

The Brotherhood of Steel soldiers whipped to the right.

The owner of the raspy comment was a mangy ghoul wearing a colonial outfit. Beside him was Nora, blending in with the misfits and freaks despite her loud minuteman uniform. Maxson jerked excitedly at her sudden appearance, whispering a yearning “Nora...” before he could stop himself. Nora simply grinned as the Elder sheepishly blushed at his own impulsive reaction.

The ghoul pointed at Arthur with a bony finger, making the Elder scowl. “ _This_ is the leader of the Brotherhood of Steel?” scoffed Nora’s unhuman companion. He tipped his hat up and inspected Arthur with engulfing ebony eyes. “Well, he is the right pinch of broody. Younger than I’d imagined, though.” The ghoul smiled grimly. “Nice coat, kid,” he said to Maxson, whose idea of civilian attire was merely ripping the Brotherhood of Steel insignia off of his fleece coat. “How much you want for it?”

“Excuse me?” Arthur managed to spit out.

Nora jabbed the strange ghoul chidingly with her elbow. “Give it a rest, Hancock.” She approached the trio warmly. “Glad you could make it.” She extended an arm towards the ghoul. “This is Hancock, Goodneighbor’s...eccentric... mayor.”

“Heh. Charming, more like,” said the ghoul, patting off his colonial jacket.

Maxson could not hide his speechless bewilderment. “This...thing is a mayor?” he blurted out.

“Yeah,” spat Hancock, “Got a problem with that, kid?”

Nora placed herself in-between the two drastically different leaders. “Now, now boys. Play nice. We have a job to do, remember?” This whole place felt like a bizarre dream world.

Danse, the least uncomfortable Brotherhood soldier, attempted to smooth the situation. “Hancock,” he greeted curtly. “What is the security situation?”

The ghoul beckoned them to follow with a wave of his arms. “I’ll show you.”

The followed the strange mayor to a dingy building. Two surprisingly well-dressed ghouls flanked a staircase downward into the belly of the building. “As you can see, I have bouncers posted at the entrance as well as any potential exits.” They continued downward. Maxson took each step tepidly, as though the floor were laden with bear traps. Muffled singing and voices grew louder. They reached a large subterranean tavern filled with various odd characters hiding in the shadows. A glittered woman sang while the patrons huddled and nursed various drinks and chems.

Hancock pointed to an empty corner table where his own bodyguard, a surly looking woman, kept guard. “I figure these stiff Brotherhood types and I will set up here. Anything goes south, and we will be ready to jump the bastard.”

“How long do we have until this shit show starts?” asked Ingram. Hancock’s bodyguard smirked in response.

Nora checked her Pip-boy. “About an hour. I’m going to stock up on ammo, just in case.”

Hancock lazily seated himself. “I’m going to relax before the show,” he said with a wry grin, revealing a pack of mentats from his coat pocket. “Gotta stay loose.”

Arthur stalked behind Nora. “I’m coming with you,” he growled. Nora was capable, but he didn’t trust the denizens in this toilet of a town.

Danse and Ingram hesitantly seated themselves across from Hancock. As Arthur left, he heard the ghoul ask Ingram. “So...what’s your deal, ginger?”

He quietly hoped Ingram would punch the strange mayor while he was away.

***

He and Nora walked about ten paces away from the Third Rail before she spun around to address him. “I know this is all a bit strange,” she admitted. “Thanks for not killing Hancock.”

“You have befriended a ghoul,” he stated disapprovingly.

“I have also befriended a handful of synths, a Mr. Handy robot, and a super mutant.” She shrugged. “And Brotherhood of Steel soldiers evidently assassinate their own. The world is a complicated place, Arthur Maxson.”

Maxson just blushed like a scolded schoolboy. He petulantly followed Nora as she purchased ammunition from a surprisingly buxom robot.

He felt his nerves zap and fire as they rounded back to Third Rail. Whatever was going to happen, it would happen soon. He clutched Nora’s shoulder. “Wait.”

At that moment, he realized the one benefit of this strange, slummy town. Just as he’d fantasized in his vertibird in years past, he was no one to the residents here. They did not care about his lineage or legacy. There would be no scuttlebutt tomorrow for his actions today. His activities here would cause no broken alliances or civil war or further assassination attempts.

So he did what he normally could not. He hastily Nora spun around, cupped her smooth cheeks in his gloved hands, and planted a fervent kiss upon her lips, for all the residents of Goodneighbor to see. Nora let out a muffled gasp before placing her hands upon his chest. The reciprocation only excited Maxson further. He deepened the kiss as their bodies pressed against one another. He let out a gruff moan as he felt his body tingle and flush.

A passerby yelled “Get a room!” causing the Elder to pull back. Nora teetered, her eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Don’t die on me, soldier,” he huskily ordered. “The Brotherhood of Steel needs you.” He dug within for courage. The words came. “ _I_ need you.”

Nora smirked, her warm eyes twinkling. “Yes sir.”


	19. Meeting

Chapter 19: Meeting

“For shit’s sake, _try_ to look like you aren’t ass deep in a mission,” Hancock drawled, returning to the table with a dusty bottle filled with gasoline-resembling bourbon.

Nora was at the bar, waiting for her contact, while the remaining group huddled awkwardly over Hancock’s corner table.

Ingram rolled her eyes and turned to Fahrenheit. “So is he drugging you or do you actually guard this guy _willingly_?”

Hancock’s bodyguard let out a “hmph” of approval. “He’s not so bad when he isn’t trying to goad the Brotherhood of Steel into shooting his snarky mouth off.”

Hancock smirked. “Now, now, ladies. No need to fight over little ol’ me. There is enough of John Hancock to go around.”

Both women exchanged annoyed glanced. Ingram asked, “So will you try to stop me if I kick his ass?”

Fahrenheit shrugged. “Perhaps I can make an exception. Just this once.”

Maxson and Danse ignored the exchange, both sullenly pouring and drinking the tar-like Bourbon in generous quantities, their eyes fixated upon Nora.

Nora, for her part, looked surprisingly natural considering the circumstances. She nursed an equally disgusting looking drink, making small chat with a Mr. Handy bartender wearing a hat almost as ridiculous as the ones she and Hancock adorned.

No one exactly saw the hooded stranger approach. It appeared to whisk beside Nora like a darkly clad apparition. Arthur and Danse simultaneously lurched forward at the surprising new presence. Hancock merely waved a hand, saying in his cool, care-free manner. “At ease, boys. Nora’s got this.”

The general cacophony within the bar made it impossible to hear what words were being exchanged, though it seemed clear that Nora and this shrouded stranger were indeed conversing. Both figures had turned slightly towards one another and had inched their bodied closer.

Minutes passed like hours. Arthur clenched and unclenched his fists in an aggravated manner. Ingram coughed uncomfortably several times. Danse simply looked on stoically with a permanent frown.

At one point, Nora turned and looked directly at Arthur, her expression unreadable. The hooded stranger turned too. Though the stranger’s face was concealed in shadow, Maxson could feel an additional set of piercing, judging eyes upon him. 

After a small eternity, Nora walked over to the group with a stack of papers and holotapes in hand. The stranger, however, remained seated at the bar and made no movements to depart. The inaction was odd; wasn’t their meeting over?

“She wants to meet you.”

Nora looked unblinkingly at Maxson as she said this.

For once in his life, Elder Arthur Maxson was dumbfounded.

“Me?” He asked mildly, brow raised, an accusing finger pointed at his own chest. “Why? What can be gained by a discussion with me?”

Nora looked dazed and grim. “She says she knows you.”

Maxson’s normally steely gaze weakened considerably. He found standing to be an unusually difficult task on this night, and felt cool adrenaline lurch and pulse as he slowly staggered to the bar. He suspected he knew who the stranger was.

He sluggishly seated himself, peering into the shadowed face of the hooded figure. With excruciating sluggishness, gloved hands pulled the hood back, light illuminating a familiar face.

The fantasy he used to replay on vertibird rides was coming to fruition.

Arthur was in the bar of a backwater town where no one knew his name.

And he was meeting with the Lone Wanderer herself.

***

“It’s good to see you again, kid.”

For all of Elder Maxson’s articulate speeches, he now found himself stammering and lacking eloquence. “It’s you,” he managed to spit out.

She curled her lips into the very grin he envisioned for a decade. Her eyes crinkled a little more, her dimples recessed further into her cheeks, but it was the same amused, entertained smile she gave him all those years ago when he recited the Brotherhood codex to her verbatim.

“You remember little old me?” she said coyly. “I’m flattered, Arthur.”

Maxson found himself blushing, suddenly feeling young and gawky. The Lone Wanderer’s gaze grew serious, sad even. “Look at you,” she said with a sigh. “Not quite the kid I remember.” Her hand went to his face, her spindly thumb tracing the scar upon his cheek.  

He lowered his head. The last ten years had been difficult, the trials and stresses now etched into his physical being.

She retracted her hand and took a stiff gulp of her drink. “I let you down, Arthur. I’m sorry.”

He tilted his head, curiously. “I don’t see how.”

She looked deep into sludgy contents of her glass and scowled. “I couldn’t stop the Untarnished.”

Arthur’s throat contracted. He swallowed.

The Wanderer played idly with her glass as she continued. “It was a tense time. Owyn’s death left the future of the eastern Brotherhood in question.” She sighed. “Sarah, Cross, and most of the members of Lyon’s Pride wanted to continue Owyn’s legacy, to help out the residents of the Capital Wasteland. Rothchild was on the fence. Artemis and Bigsley wanted to kiss ass to the Outcasts and western chapter. They even suggested handing over some juicy bits of Enclave tech as a peace offering.”

Arthur broke eye contact and winced.

The Wanderer did not seem to notice his pained expression and continued. “I thought Sarah’s promotion to Elder settled everything.” She scoffed. “Once she got used to her new role, Sarah insisted on touring the wasteland. She enjoyed getting out, meeting the people she’d sworn to protect. She kept saying it was what her father would have wanted.” She hunched over the bar and frowned. “We were en route to Megaton. Sarah, me, Cross, and a full armed escort. I decided to scout out ahead to make sure the road was safe.” Grim silence. “I heard the laser fire and ran back.  I was about a half a mile up the road, but I could see everything- Sarah was being shot by her own soldiers.”

The Wanderer gulped what remained of her drink like necessary medicine before she continued. “Cross stayed loyal in the end, but it wasn’t enough. By the time I made it back, Sarah and Cross were on the ground and those double-crossing fucks were fleeing.” She clenched her jaw bitterly. “They just left both women to rot in the streets.” Her gaze drooped downward. “I should have-“

Maxson impulsively clutched the Wanderer’s slim wrist. “You are blameless in the matter,” he interrupted. He released his hand and ran it across his bearded face. The Wanderer’s words bit and stung. “You should place your blame onto me. All of these years, I have unwittingly helped Sarah’s murderers.”

The Wanderer hastily cut in, rubbing a motherly hand across his back. “Don’t blame yourself, kid. You didn’t know.” Her eyes twinkled. “ _I_ certainly don’t blame you. I just wish I could have gotten you out of there before the Untarnished took over. But by the time I returned to the Citadel, Lyon’s Pride had been disbanded and I’d been locked out. I was told my honorary membership had been revoked, and that my services were no longer needed. They quoted that stupid codex line about outsiders you once told me.”

He smirked. He still remembered every word of that codex line. “Shield yourself from those not bound to you by steel, for they are the blind. Aid them when you can, but lose not sight of yourself,” he recited.

The Wanderer blurted a hearty laugh. “Yeah, that’s the one!” She smiled. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

Arthur smirked. “And yet you chose an outsider to carry the secret of Sarah’s death.” He turned his head towards Nora, who was watching the exchange from the corner with unhidden interest.

The Wanderer gave Arthur a long look, as if debating how much she information she was willing to give away. “I chose her _because_ she is an outsider. She had no political agenda in the Brotherhood, and I had relatively easy access to her. I don’t know how the hell I would have delivered the packages to you, what with you living on a goddam balloon.” Her tone grew serious. “Plus...You are not the same boy I once knew. I didn’t know if the name Sarah Lyons even meant anything to you anymore.”

“Of course it does!” he snapped. “She was my mentor, and I cared deeply for her. I would have thought that much was obvious.”

The Wanderer gave him a long, hard look. She finally cracked her familiar pleased smile. “It _used_ to be obvious, back in the day. I..err...may have stumbled across your childhood journal entries while I was helping out at the Citadel.”

Arthur recoiled, humiliated. As he recalled, he’d wistfully written once that he thought he was in love with Sarah after she taught him how to kill a man via puncturing the kidneys. “Why did you read them?” he ruefully asked.

The Lone Wanderer snaked a hand through his normally pristine, disciplined hair. “Because they were fucking adorable.” She smirked. “Still remember how to stab a man in the kidneys?”

He felt his face grow hot. “I’m afraid so.”

The Wanderer shook her head with a chuckle, before turning her head and catching Nora’s eye. “Truthfully, kid? When I came to the Commonwealth and heard that the general of the Minutemen was a vault-dweller with ties to the Brotherhood, I knew I had to give her Sarah’s items. She reminded me of...well... _me_.” She looked upon him sadly. “I couldn’t help you all those years ago, but maybe she can.”

The Lone Wanderer stood to leave. Arthur felt his heart clench. “It was good seeing you again, kid. I’ve given Nora what evidence I was able to hack from Brotherhood Outposts in the Capital Wasteland. If you manage to kill the members of the Untarnished, come find me in Sanctuary. I have one last thing to show you. It’s a doozy.”

She whisked about and vanished into the crowd in moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Nice job to everyone who guessed the identity of the package sender! You are all so smart ;)


	20. Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some potential spoilers (some AU as well) for Fallout: New Vegas! I redid the chapter a few times so apologies for any grammatical errors.

 

 

By the time Arthur’s vertibird docked to the Prydwyn, Kells was already on the flight deck. Based on his windswept uniform and persistent shiver, the captain had been waiting outside for the Elder’s arrival for some time. Kells wasted no time as Maxson and Ingram stepped off of the plane, running towards the pair like an eager dog. Maxson inwardly groaned; he was carrying a mountain of papers and holotapes and was hardly in a comfortable position to talk. Nora had agreed to let Maxson view the Lone Wanderer’s mounds of evidence first. If the documents ended up being lost to the wind due to Kell’s interruption he’d have his captain’s head.

“Sir!” Kells blurted. “You have been gone for hours, I’d feared the worst. Has something happened?”

The Elder attempted to calm the fervent captain as he shifted the gawky documents in his arms. “Everything is alright, Lancer Captain,” he insisted. “There is a situation on the ground, but Ingram and I are handling it.”

Kells was no fool; Arthur should not have been as surprised as he was at Kell’s next words. “No outposts are reporting enemy activity and your vertibird was spotted flying near the area of Goodneighbor. With all due respect, sir, what the hell is going on?”

Arthur’s cool blue eyes crawled over Kells, as if truly evaluating the man for the first time. He would have to take risks in the days to come; especially risks concerning who to trust. Though his instincts had failed him in the past, he nevertheless relied upon them now.

“I have reason to believe there are additional traitors within the Brotherhood,” Maxson replied bluntly.

Ingram’s eyes widened and she shot him a confused look. “Sir, I wouldn’t go around saying that willy-nilly.”

Maxson merely shrugged. “I believe Kells is loyal to me.” His blue eyes narrowed. “You are indeed loyal to me, aren’t you, Lancer Captain Kells?”

Kells almost staggered backwards, clearly surprised at the vague suspicion now directed towards him. “Of course, sir!”

Perhaps he was wrong to do so, but he believed him. “Good,” Maxson replied. “I will be in my quarters for the remainder of the evening and will set out again tomorrow. See that I am not disturbed and that word of my mission does not leave the confines of this flight deck. Understood?”

Kells nodded and whipped a salute so quickly he nearly hit himself with his own hand. “Yes, sir, Elder! You can count on me sir.”

The coming days would be a series of gambles. Today, he would cast the die and dare to trust Kells.

***

Maxson did not sleep that night. He couldn’t. He’d spent six hours sorting through endless messages, personal entries, verbal recordings, and raw data. He lay coiled and tense like a strained spring as the ragtag bits of information gelled together into one cohesive tale of treachery and betrayal.

The Wanderer’s evidence against the Untarnished started about a decade ago, with a plethora of disgruntled journal entries against Elder Owen Lyons within the western chapter, the Outcasts, and even some soldiers within Lyon’s own ranks. The messages diminished once Project Purity proved to be a resounding success, but they hastily resumed after the Elder’s death. The Wanderer had scribbled notes indicating her suspicion concerning Owyn’s death, but apparently had no evidence to support the postulations.

Once Owyn Lyons died, Casdin began sending messages out to the eastern chapter, poking and prodding for any uncertain or resentful members. He somehow got in contact with Bigsley, who proved to be the perfect patsy. Bigsley responded in anger and in earnest, clearly irritated, overworked, and underappreciated. Casdin ordered Biglsey to report every eastern Brotherhood soldier who could possibly be turned against the new Elder, Sarah Lyons. Based on Casdin’s own arrogant voice recordings, he boasted meeting and even turning these troops to his own cause via clandestine encounters in the Capital Wasteland.

Around the same time, inventories and stocks showed the western Brotherhood chapter sending hordes of supplies to Casdin. Knight Hardin, under the orders of the Lost Hills Elders, coordinated the supply drops.

Months later, Sarah was assassinated. The same dissenters from Bigsley’s reports made up the duty roster for Sarah’s escort detail.

Based on some very angry personal holotapes from the Lyon’s Pride members, the doors to the Citadel opened to Casdin the moment Sarah was gone. Casdin managed to disband and transfer most of the Lyon’s supporters within weeks.  As Arthur recalled, he was paraded about in combat not long after this time.

The last flecks of data concerned the role of the western chapter. Messages from Hardin to Casdin ceased for several years, but resumed when Hardin managed to depose his Elder, McNamara, and end a lockdown in his Mojave bunker. Unfortunately for Hardin, he later reported that he was betrayed by an outsider and NCR ally, resulting in the destruction of his Mojave compound. Somehow, Hardin managed to slink out of the compound before it exploded while many, including his former Elder, met their doom. He recently resumed messaging Casdin from the Lost Hills, though his crusade against the NCR and political maneuvers within the Brotherhood comprise most of his private messages and journal entries. Hardin did, however, find the time to approve Quinlan’s transfer.

The final and most disturbing piece of news from the west was a marriage license and adoption certificate. As perhaps one last post-mortem stab to his former Elder, Hardin managed to convince the late McNamara’s widowed sister to marry him. He then adopted her daughter, one Beth McNamara, and not a fortnight later added her name in Maxson’s list of suitors.

Maxson had met the girl among his other suitors not long ago. Perhaps there was some rationalization for her lifeless shell of a personality.

The entire recollection itched Maxson’s skin. Eventually, he plodded out of bed, dressed himself, and ambled around his metallic home. When he found his way back to the observation deck, he paused before its familiar gleaming windows. He found himself peering outward. Westward.

Towards Sanctuary.

Towards Nora.

Towards some faint remnant of hope.

***

The next day Maxson made no delays. He was scheduled to debrief Nora, Danse, Ingram, and Haylen in Sanctuary at 0900. At 0630 he personally hunted Haylen and Ingram to the mess hall, and impatiently barked at them to finish their meals, arm themselves, and escort him to his vertibird at 0730. The troops in the mess hall felt his tremored anger and darted like frightened puppies as far away from the Elder as possible.

Maxson’s vertibird touched down in Sanctuary a half an hour early, but Nora has apparently foreseen this. Minutemen guards dutifully escorted him through a series of blockades and turrets, barely resembling the humble farmers and settlers they once were. Maxson was secretly impressed by the rag tag men and women, but made no motion to betray his feelings.

She and Danse were seated at a rusted tabled in one of the larger renovated houses in Sanctuary when Maxson, Ingram, and Haylen arrived. Haylen could not betray her excitement at seeing her former superior officer; she practically squealed as she said his name. Danse’s haggard expression melted as he saw his former soldier-in-arms, and as he raised himself Haylen pounced on him to embrace him like an eager child. The action irked Maxson; he cynically suspected that Haylen’s loyalties were less bound to the Brotherhood and more entangled with the synth she’d worked for.

His thoughts melted as he gazed upon Nora, who sat straight-backed and powerful at the head of the table. Her Minuteman uniform, even with the hat, seemed appropriately leaderly, for once. He found her air of authority relieving. Here, the citizens came to her, worked for her, relied on her, adored her. Maxson was, if anything, merely a guest. She nodded to him with a wry smile. “Elder Maxson,” she greeted formally.

“General,” he curtly responded. He wasn’t sure if he meant her title genuinely or sarcastically, and Nora’s thinly raised brow indicated that she did not know his meaning either. Maxson did not dwell on the matter, and instead seated himself at the opposite table head. Ingram followed suit, sitting to his right. Haylen lowered herself to his left (which, incidentally, also allowed her to sit beside Danse). The young Minuteman named Preston flanked Nora.  

Maxson wasted little time relaying the information he’d learned from the Lone Wanderer’s notes. By the time the tale had finished, no one found the energy to speak right away. Eventually Nora took the lead. “So...” she drawled, tiredly slouching into her chair. “How do we get to them?”

Danse, despite his exile, reverted to full lecture-mode. “We need to arrange a meeting. Something that will force the Elders and Head Scribes to convene without drawing suspicion. We will then need to take Casdin, Bigsley, and Hardin out simultaneously before the others have a chance to arm forces or flee.”

“Can’t we just call for a council meeting? To debrief them on the mission against the Institute?” asked Haylen mildly.

“There is nothing to report,” Maxson said, eyeing Nora and Preston. “The Brotherhood never fought the Institute beyond minor skirmishes. I already reported that the Institute was defeated by a third party the day the CIT was obliterated. Asking for another meeting could rouse suspicion.”

“We could try using Nora as bait,” suggested Ingram. “We already know she’s popped up on their radar. All we would need to do is tell them she led the group that killed the Institute and wants to negotiate a deal with the Brotherhood. Institute tech in exchange for settlement supplies."

Danse answered. “I doubt the western chapter would deign to participate. They have always been isolationists and they are in the midst of a war with the NCR. Hardin would only risk attending if he thought Nora was the same outsider as the one who destroyed the Mojave compound. We don’t have enough intel to convince him of that.”

Preston nodded. “I knew a Minuteman who was originally a refugee from out west. He told me the Brotherhood out there strip and place explosive collars on wastelanders who get too close to their bunkers. I don’t think they will be too eager to meet us.”

“Lovely,” muttered Nora. “Well, I have an idea. It is a bad one, and everyone is going to hate it, myself included. But it just might work.”

Maxson eyed her cautiously. “That is not reassuring,” he murmured.

“Let’s at least hear it,” Ingram said as she eagerly leaned forward.

“I can think of one event that would get the entire Brotherhood’s attention.” She paused, her eyes fixating on Maxson. “And the council members are clearly interested in the subject.”

She paused, her eyes never leaving the blue steel of Arthur’s.

“Marriage.”

Maxson rocketed from his seat. “Is this some kind of twisted joke?!”

Nora betrayed a small smirk, slightly enjoying the Elder’s unusually uncontrolled state. “I’m not joking. I’m not saying you actually have to go through with it, but if you lie and tell them you want to marry some relation of the Untarnished, I bet even the western chapter will attend that ceremony.”

Maxson was quick to retort. “Weddings within the Brotherhood are of a personal nature. They are not some lavish display. The council would never attend.”

Danse shook his head. “Normally you are correct, Arthur, but you are a special case. You are the Brotherhood incarnate, the very symbol of our cause. A wedding to you would be no standard union. If you wanted your wedding to be a spectacle, I bet the council would be more than happy to permit it.”

Nora smiled. “Yes, it isn’t every day that someone with a soul forged in steel gets hitched.  Plus everyone’s guard will be down at the ceremony. All we will need to do is lock the doors and post soldiers near Casdin, Bigsley, and Hardin.”

Maxson snarled back. “I won’t do it,” he spat. “I will not marry simply to draw my enemies out of hiding.”

“Then don’t get married,” said Ingram bluntly. “Just lie and tell the council you will. We will capture or kill these Untarnished bastards before you even have a chance to say ‘I do’.”

Nora supplemented. “The marriage ceremony also gives you a chance to state your case to the Brotherhood soldiers in attendance. You can tell your troops how Brotherhood soldiers have dishonorably been killing fellow soldiers. You can tell them how the Untarnished are undermining your authority. You can even show them your gunshot wound and point to the ones responsible. You will have a willing mob ready to kill Bigsley, Casdin, and Hardin even if we somehow fail.”

Maxson stewed petulantly for a few moments. He hated how plausible the idea seemed. “Let me make one thing clear,” he hissed, his fingers interlocking and tightening into a deathly grip. “If we go through with this plan... _if_...the perpetrators will need to be killed or in custody long before I finish any vows.” He released his hands and slammed one onto the table for angry effect. “I refuse to marry anyone who is even acquainted with these traitors. Do I make myself clear?”

The rest of the table looked on in silent intimidation before nodding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are thinking to yourself ‘wow, this girl watches too many soap operas’ after reading the latter portion of this chapter…you’d be correct ;)


	21. Promotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more on the fluffy side but since there aren’t that many chapters left to go before the ending I don’t feel that bad ;) Again thanks to everyone for reading!!

Atop the observation deck, Arthur could sense it before he could see it.

Over the dead hills and decrepit cities that he’d marveled at as a boy, it beamed in the distance.

Strong. Resolute. Proud.

The Citadel.

Home.

He’d intended only to return once the Institute had personally been obliterated by his hand. Instead, his homecoming was much more dubious and perhaps even more dangerous than his crusade against the Institute. Soon, he would be capturing or killing fellow soldiers while attempting to keep the very fabric of the Brotherhood from unraveling before him.

Worst of all was the humiliating part he’d need to play in the days to come: Doting fiancée to Bethany McNamara. He’d informed the council that she was his wife of choice solely to ensure that Hardin would attend the ceremony. It certainly was not for Beth’s personality, which rivaled feral ghouls in emotion and charisma.

He felt yet another physical wave of nausea crash upon him. He clutched a nearby railing for sorely needed support, hunching over in apparent pain.  

Nora was his only minor source of consolation. When the words like ‘marriage,’ ‘wedding,’ and ‘wife’ were uttered, he caught her subtle frowns and minute recoils. She planned this awful debacle, but she did not want to see her scheme come to fruition either. That was something, at least.

As the tiny pinnacle of the Citadel grew in the distance, he heard the patter of footsteps behind him.

He turned.

Nora approached. Danse was with her.

She’d predictably insisted the synth join them on their mission to the Citadel. It chagrinned Arthur that he was unable to disagree with her. He hadn’t found a single hairline crack in Danse’s dog-like loyalty.

What Nora could never appreciate and what Maxson silently resented was his own disgrace in permitting Danse to return from exile. The Elder had to admit to the entire crew of the Prydwyn that Danse had not, in fact, been killed by the Brotherhood when his identity was uncovered. Arthur then had to further concede that Danse had been aiding the Brotherhood in exile and would be permitted aboard the Prydwyn once more to assist in an upcoming mission. The Elder noted the confused glances and weighty stares his soldiers shot him after the announcement. Hesitation and backtracking were hardly considered qualities of a resolute and unerring leader. Maxson found himself avoiding the silent judgements of his fellow brothers and sisters, but fortunately the perceived weakening of his leadership did not last long. The return of the revered and popular Danse absorbed the majority of the crew’s attention, causing speculation and joy in equal doses. Even from the observation deck, Maxson could hear the hushed whispers concerning the former paladin.

_Maybe Danse isn’t a synth after all?_

_I heard he helped Nora blow the Institute to hell._

_I thought Nora had killed him._

_Glad to see the big guy’s back._

_So is Danse still a paladin?_

_I hope Danse takes over combat training again. Teagan sucks._

_I need Danse to look over these weapon schematics for me, I can’t make heads or tails of them._

As Danse and Nora proudly stood before Maxson, the Elder gazed stoically at the duo for a moment, his eyes cold and calculating, his mouth curved in a scowl.

He didn’t know why their partnership continued to irk him. Danse had always been formal and dutiful. He’d always shown Maxson only the utmost respect.

He’d always spoken of Nora with courtesy and admiration.

He felt himself twinge as he sized up the pair.

From posture to position, their friendship was clear. They stood side-by-side, perfectly aligned and mere inches apart.  It was a closeness Arthur could not publicly show towards Nora, especially with his farce of a wedding approaching.

Maxson forced himself to speak. “Nora. Danse,” he started curtly. He turned away from them, immensely relieved to no longer be staring at the cozy pair. What he had to say would be difficult for him. Looking upon them would only make things more difficult.

The sun glinted through puffy clouds, illuminating the observation deck in a golden haze. “It is typical for Elders to be accompanied by paladins within the Citadel for ceremonial purposes and for personal safety. Unfortunately, I don’t know which soldiers under my command I can trust to accomplish that task.”

He forced himself to turn slightly towards them. “That is why, after much thought...” He paused. Danse’s dark eyes were glued to his own. “I have decided to reinstate Danse to his rank of paladin and promote Knight Nora to the rank of paladin as well.”

Nora wasted no time, leaping atop her towering partner and ensnaring him in a joyous embrace.

Maxson looked hotly to the floor, immediately regretting his decision. But it was too late. It was done. He’d already reversed his position on Danse’s exile. To reverse another decision would only continue to degrade his leadership.

“Congrats, you old lug you,” Nora squealed as she released her partner.

Danse gave her a small blushed smile, his eyes incredibly tender towards Nora. Maxson dared to look up again and his jaw clenched.

For a moment Arthur wondered if he’d descended into madness. He had just allowed a synth to rejoin his ranks because of his own weakness towards Nora, a woman he just promoted to paladin despite her dual loyalty to the Brotherhood and Minutemen. What was wrong with him?

Danse turned to the Elder and saluted. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down again.”

Arthur’s face was stone. “See to it that you don’t. Paladin.”

“Yes, sir,” Danse said, attempting to restrain his emotions.

Nora finally seemed to realize her own promotion. She saluted the Elder with a grin. “Thank you, sir.”

Maxson turned his back to them once more. He did not want to look upon them a moment longer.

“You will escort me off of the ship and into the Citadel once we are docked. Dismissed.”

He only heard one clatter of footsteps exit.

Maxson stubbornly kept his back turned. He needed to keep his anger sequestered. He was on the observation deck, in full view and earshot of a bustling ship of soldiers.

He also did not wish to see Nora’s smug satisfaction.

Nora, intelligently, said nothing, though he could sense her relentless stare.

More footsteps. Arthur, to his mixed relief and despair, assumed she was leaving.

Instead, she brazenly strode up beside him. Maxson found himself frozen out of anger, excitement, and possibly even trepidation.

The vault dweller slyly nudged herself beside the Elder, and nimbly snaked an arm in-between his charcoal flight suit and fleeced jacked. Her arm curled itself around his back, her hand resting on his far hip. It was an ingenious move, tactically; his thick coat concealed her sly embrace to the crew. It appeared as if two soldiers were simply standing beside one another to view the Citadel in the distance. No suspicions would be roused before the wedding. 

She let out an elongated exhale, her voice whispering in tremored emotion. “Thank you.”

Maxson felt his body tickle and spark. He attempted to sound unfazed. “It was nothing.”

Nora squeezed his hip. He fought the urge to bite his lip. “Will Danse’s reinstatement cause problems with the council?”

Maxson swallowed. He loathed confessions. “I never informed them of the incident with Danse.” He lowered his head. “I was too proud. I did not wish for them to know of my failure. I did not wish to appear weak.”  He shrugged. “In any case, you will both be dressed in full power armor as my escort. Your identities should remain anonymous.”

She inched dangerously closer. He could feel her shoulder brushing against him. He stifled a shiver. “I don’t think you are weak, Arthur Maxson,” she cooed.

He laced a free hand over Nora’s own diminutive fingers as she continued to grasp his hip. “Stay here with me,” he responded. It was less of a command and more of a plea.

Nora acquiesced. They watched the Citadel loom and grow in intimate silence.


	22. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fear this chapter is a bit on the slow side but it sets the stage for some high level angst in the next chapter. As always, thank you for your support and I hope you continue to stay tuned!

 

It was insanity.

As Elder Maxson descended from the Pyrdwyn onto the ramp leading to the Citadel, a horde of ardent supporters chanted and thrashed in waves below. Desperate cries of “ad victoriam” melded together in a strange bestial cheer. The scene felt alien, mindless, and desperately wrong. Certainly, the descendant of Roger Maxson deserved respect, but not _this_.

 _This is the council’s doing,_ he reflected bitterly, imagining the crusted, leathery Elders plotting and scheming within the dark, cold confines of the Citadel’s innards. _The council has fostered the very Maxson cults I sought to abolish._

He found himself relieved that Danse and Nora were flanking him. Both were adorned in full power armor and upgraded laser rifles. Their faces were concealed behind bulky helmets, giving both a cool, emotionless aura about them. Their powerful visage at his side raised his confidence, allowing him to regally step off of his ship despite the frantic chants below.

Giant double doors leading to the Citadel’s interior creaked and boomed as they drew close, opening a dark chasm within. The scene felt ominous, as if Elder Maxson were entering the gulf of the abyss. The interior contrasted starkly with the fervent scene outside. Endless rows of perfectly aligned soldiers silently flanked Maxson’s side as he strode inward, inaudibly whipping coordinated salutes as the Elder glided by.

Maxson, Danse, and Nora strode purposefully to the council chambers. The towering building creaked and groaned around them like a giant breathing leviathan, bellowing at its new trespassers.

The rotund room housing the council chambers loomed in the distance. Arthur found his throat had become dry and coarse in anxious anger. The Untarnished would be among Elders, Generals, and Head Scribes present. Protected or not, he should have simply ordered Danse and Nora to assassinate the bastards the moment they became visible in the council chambers… not after some persuasive wedding speech. Civil war be damned. The Untarnished were gutless assassins. They should be killed as such.

He stifled a rough cough.

The council chambers had been upgraded and embellished since boyhood. Giant Brotherhood of Steel banners covered the walls while a large sleek circular table composed the chamber’s centerpiece. An assortment of elegantly robed and armored men and women were seated around the table, each flanked by body guards of their own. Star Paladins were also peppered around the perimeter of the chamber for additional protection. Arthur found himself reversing his earlier wish; killing Bisgley, Hardin, and Casdin before being killed themselves would have been nigh impossible.

The council members were seated around the rotund center table as Maxson entered. For a brief moment, chatter ceased and all heads simultaneously turned in Arthur’s direction. Arthur noticed the interesting segregation that occurred at the table. The eastern chamber composed the left side of the table; the western chapter took residence on the right side.

And at the opposite end of the table, where the left and right sides met, were the infamous trio. Bigsley, Casdin, and Hardin.

The Untarnished.

Bigsley still looked like the electrocuted squirrel Maxson recalled from youth. He twitched restlessly in his seat, his eyes darting all over the Elder in crude calculation.

Arthur had never met Hardin, but the portly, ugly man beside Casdin had to be him. His hair was arranged in a greasy combover and his skin was littered in brown splotches. He looked blankly at Maxson, wrinkles embedding into his face as his scowl deepened. He appeared unimpressed.

Worst of all was Casdin. He was an old frail man now, but between flaps of sagging skin his reaction to Arthur’s entrance was the most intolerable of the three.

He looked at Arthur and gave a sickening smile.

The action alone almost sent the young Elder into a rage, and he fondled the gun at his side with primal longing. The flash of anger quickly simmered down, however, and he forced his face to contort into an emotionless mask.

Their time would come soon enough.

Casdin rose first. The rest of the council quickly followed suit. They saluted their beloved hero swiftly and simultaneously. “Ad victoriam!” they bellowed.

“Welcome home, Elder Maxson,” Casdin boomed, his arms extending outward in greeting. “We are pleased you have returned to us, and on such an auspicious occasion.”

Hardin approached with a familiar suitor in tow. Beth McNamara, at first glance, shared the same prim and pretty features as Scribe Haylen, with fair hair, high noble cheeks, and smooth petite lips. But where Haylen was kind and intelligent, this woman had the personality of a wet towel. Wilted golden hair clung to her blank face. Her eyes betrayed nothing.

 Hardin seemed to hover behind her like the furtive pimp he was.

Beth gave a slight bow as she dully greeted him with a monotone, “Elder Maxson.”

 She then raised herself and limply flopped her arms around Maxson’s neck like a dead fish. Maxson awkwardly returned the embrace.

At that moment, Elder Maxson felt like a whore.

He slowly pushed her away. He felt nauseous.

“The wedding is planned in two days’ time,” Casdin piped in. “If you find that date acceptable, Elder Maxson.”

Maxson suddenly found he was exhausted. He managed to nod and groan a reply. “Yes, that is acceptable.” He tried with considerable effort to address Casdin neutrally. “I would like to take the opportunity at the ceremony to rally the troops. Would it be possible to accommodate as many Brotherhood soldiers as possible for the event?”

Hardin frowned. “You are marrying my daughter, not planning staged entertainment for the troops.”

Arthur felt his fists clench and squeeze. Hardin was already ugly; one punch to the face wouldn’t change that, certainly. “I thought the idea would please you, Elder Hardin,” he retorted with a low grumble. “It is not every day a man’s daughter becomes bound to the Maxson line.”

Bigley, who’d been huddled behind Casdin like a leashed dog, finally piped in. “As long as there’s enough booze to go around, who cares,” he said colorlessly.

Hardin’s beady eyes locked onto Arthur’s own. Casdin stepped between the men to break the thick tension.

“Enough,” the elderly man boomed to Hardin. “It is not every day we have a legend in our midst.” His eyes turned to Arthur, small and shrewd. “I believe it would do our troops good to hear from Roger Maxson’s descendent. There is an opera theater we have commandeered as a resupply station a few clicks from here that can serve as the venue.” His calculating eyes narrowed towards Maxson, as if in silent warning. “You will have your audience, Elder Maxson. I do hope you take advantage of the opportunity to solidify for your place within the Brotherhood.”

Maxson’s steely eyes did not flinch. “I have every intention of doing so, Elder Casdin.”

Beth McNamara weakly clutched his hand. “Come, my beloved,” she said, her voice flat. “Let us greet the troops.”

Maxson heard Nora shift behind him and could feel her gaze boring through her helmet and into the back of his head. He dared to turn back towards her but could discern nothing from her stoic stance and cool, metallic helmet. His hardened gaze relaxed just a sliver as he willed a silent apology towards her. The action did not last long; Bigsley uttered two sentences that caused Maxson to whip back towards the Untarnished in unadulterated surprise.

 “Before you go, Elder Maxson... could you direct me to Proctor Quinlan’s office? The old prick won’t respond to my messages anymore.”


	23. Strife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally longer but I decided to break it up into two chapters to maximize the drama and to extend the story. What can I say, I have thoroughly enjoyed writing this fic and don’t want it to end! I hope you are enjoying it as well. I still have ~7-8 chapters to go so it’s not over just yet :)

Arthur attempted to mask his shock, though he felt his eyes widen a moment too late. “Proctor Quinlan has remained in the Commonwealth,” he replied tersely. “He is on field assignment acquiring what remains of the Institute’s technology.”

The three members of the Untarnished just stared for several uncomfortable seconds. Maxson internally cursed; they weren’t buying it. Casdin eventually filled the thick silence. “I see,” he said cryptically. “A shame. We recently uncovered additional Enclave technology and we were hoping to take advantage of his expertise.”

A bold faced lie. The Enclave more or less died out a decade ago. It was highly unlikely that the Brotherhood had conveniently uncovered ground-breaking new tech moments before the Prydwyn arrived. If they had, Maxson was certain he would have heard about it. Even in death, the Enclave were still the cause of much dread and obsession within the Brotherhood of Steel.

Maxson attempted to keep his features unreadable. “I will inform Proctor Quinlan of the discovery once he finishes his mission. He will be in contact soon.”

A flash of the bloody body lying in Sanctuary skittered through Maxson’s mind. He tried not to wince as he turned to leave his enemies.

Beth draped herself over him like a second flaccid coat. He could have sworn he heard a sharp inhale from Nora, but Maxson forced himself to stare forward, towards the murky innards of the Citadel as his bride-to-be led him away.

***

No operations, patrols, or combat compared to the grueling day Arthur Maxson had just endured. He was paraded and introduced to a sea of random faces, smiling to all through gritted teeth as his would-be wife remained attached to him like a leech. Specific memories of the day proved difficult to form, the adrenaline and stress fogging his mind and merely pushing him to persist.

Maxson, Danse, and Nora plodded sluggishly and wordlessly to Arthur’s quarters. Maxson was housed in a sprawling suite, lavish compared to the militaristic starkness of the rest of the Citadel. Codex pages lined the walls, retired guns and ammo were displayed in glass cases, regal chairs flanked the doors, and sleek floors were polished with such adamant care as to be reflective. The room resembled a museum more than practical living quarters save for the large, intricate bed on the far side of the room.

His nuptial bed.

Nora and Danse hastily discarded their helmets, gasping for air as if suffocating. Both paladins plopped down onto two of the chairs at the side of the room. Their own quarters adjoined the Elder’s room through a door mere feet away, but neither apparently had the will or energy to endure the short trek.

Maxson gingerly sat upon his marriage bed and cringed.

No one spoke. No one had the chance to. A harried knock rapped at the door. Danse and Nora quickly shot up but were unable to adorn their helmets before Henry Casdin entered.

The old man looked at Nora and Danse with a knowing smile.

“What curious company you keep, Elder Maxson,” said Casdin with a snake-line grin. He pointed to Danse. “I recognize Paladin Danse, of course, from his tours in the Capital Wasteland.” He approached the large man, looking into Danse’s dark eyes curiously. “I have been hearing the most fascinating rumors about you.”

Casdin then spun to Nora. “And you…” he started, inching awkwardly close to the woman. “We haven’t met, but I bet I know who you are…” He extended a clammy grey hand. “You must be the vault dweller. The infamous ‘Knight Nora’.”

Nora gripped his hand tightly, her eyes daring and unafraid. “ _Paladin_ Nora now, sir,” she spat.

“Why have you come, Elder Casdin? The hour is late,” Maxson irascibly asked, circling the elderly man predatorily.

Casdin shrugged. “I just wanted to see that you’d settled in. I also thought you should know that the timetable has been moved up, slightly.”

Maxson resisted the urge to tense his body. “How so?”

Casdin clasped his hands together. “We managed to finish our arrangements for the marriage ceremony earlier than expected, and Elder Hardin is anxious to return west and continue his battle with the NCR.” Cold eyes peaked through a nest of wrinkles. “Therefore, your wedding has been advanced to tomorrow at noon.”

Behind him, Nora or Danse (or both) shuffled. Arthur resisted the urge to flinch. Instead he forced his facial muscles to slowly, painfully, form a small grin. “Excellent,” Maxson attempted to say mildly. “I see no reason to delay.”

Casdin’s piercing eyes narrowed. “Neither do we, Elder Maxson. Neither do we…” The elderly man quickly turned and exited. The door clanged behind him ominously.

Itchy, fiery rage filled Maxson’s head. He spun about to Nora. “Do you see what your sham of a plan has wrought?!” he snarled.

Nora’s eyes widened, unprepared for his anger. “I told you it was a shit plan, sir, but we can still pull this off. Tomorrow we will have all of the Untarnished trapped in one location together.”

Danse raised himself and stepped forward protectively in front of his partner. “She’s right, sir. All we need to do is assign loyal soldiers to lock the doors and determine who among us will be posted to each Untarnished member.”

Nora nodded. “We can enter the ceremony as your armed escort then disperse once you give your speech.”

“And what if your so-called plan fails?” he angrily quipped. “Casdin knows that something is amiss. What if he plants his own armed soldiers?” His face contorted into a strange mixture of anger and pain. “What if you are both killed and I am forced to wed that… _woman_?”

Nora opened her mouth to respond but Maxson indignantly continued.

“Sarah Lyons and the Lone Wanderer were legends and even _they_ failed against the Untarnished.” Maxson sneered, his cold eyes narrowing reproachfully. “I was a fool to think that a coddled housewife and a synthetic abomination could help me now.”

Danse stood dumbstruck. Nora blinked rapidly. She quickly regained composure. “You forget, _Elder_ ,” she bit back. “That _we_ defeated the Institute. Not your beloved Sarah. Not the Lone Wanderer. Not even _you_.”

She did not wait for a reaction or response. She stormed to her quarters with Danse in tow. The slam of their door sounded like a slap in the face.


	24. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had this chapter in my head for a while now, which somehow made it that much harder to write. After several attempts I hope I finally got it down on paper well!

 

Nearly an hour passed before Maxson mustered sufficient courage and remorse to approach the door to his paladins’ quarters. By the time he did, all murmurs and shuffling from the adjacent room had ceased. The silence felt foreboding.

He cursed at his own trepidation. His actions should be a simple matter; merely knock and apologize. Why, then, was he hesitating? Was he such a coward that he couldn’t confront two people? Was his hubris so overinflated that he’d become unable to admit wrongdoing?

But the truth behind his inaction was incessantly squirming through his mind. It was not the act of apologizing that caused him to falter, it was the one factor he could not control: their responses.

He squeezed his fist into a ball and pounded on the door impulsively before his nagging thoughts could thwart him once more.

He heard nothing. He strained to listen for the shuffling of feet or murmuring of voices, but there was no hint of activity.

He found himself embarrassed and flushed. He began walking away from the door, before rashly stomping back and forcing the door’s handle. It opened without resistance.

The paladins’ room was enveloped in darkness. At first Maxson assumed both soldiers were sleeping, but a trickling dread in his belly caused him to suspect otherwise. He hastily flicked a nearby switch. Stinging artificial lights hummed on.

The tiny room was pristinely kept. The beds were tightly tucked with naught even a wrinkle; the floor was clean and uncluttered.

Nora and Danse were gone, along with their weapons and power armor.

Maxson attempted to cling to his cool, calculating logic. Despite his inappropriate comments, Nora and Danse were still likely loyal to him. He sincerely doubted that either paladin would go AWOL now, on the eve of such a delicate and crucial mission. They had probably left in order to prepare equipment, soldiers, and strategy for the wedding tomorrow.

…Right?

 The irrational, juvenile slice of his mind that was so customarily repressed now howled, unchained. It could not be ignored.

Maxson found himself bursting out of their room and into the hallway. He paused, peering down both ends of the corridor. There was no sign of either paladin. He hesitated. For once, Arthur Maxson did not have a plan. 

After several tense seconds, he finally spun to the right and hastily trotted towards the barracks.

_Ingram. Haylen. They might know something._

The barracks was crowded and bustling, filled with cordial cheers and friendly banter. Much of the Prydwyn crew was present, reveling in their well-deserved shore leave.  Maxson’s severe presence was lost in the sea of alcohol and joviality. 

He deftly weaved through the crowded mess hall, scanning the sea of faces.

Haylen and Ingram were not present. Neither were Nora and Danse.

The realization only riled Arthur further. He made his way to the soldiers’ sleeping quarters and began angrily banging on doors. The unsuspecting soldiers who answered were then barraged with a flurry of questions concerning the whereabouts of Haylen, Ingram, Danse, and Nora. Their befuddled negative answers only incensed Arthur further.

“Elder?”

Haylen’s innocently confused face peeked out of a door further down the hallway. “I thought I heard my name.”

Maxson wasted no time storming up to her. “Scribe,” he said curtly. “It is imperative I speak to Paladins Danse and Nora. Do you know their current location?”

Haylen took a cautious step back and tilted her head. “They are inside my room, sir,” she replied. “I thought you knew. They wanted to tell us about the early wedding and talk strategy.”

Maxson did not answer, instead barreling into the room with the force of a sudden radstorm.

Danse, Nora, and Ingram were huddled around a small end table. Nora was speaking as Maxson entered. “We still need another person to help guard the exits. I think we should risk bringing Kells into the…” Her voice trailed to nothingness as she became aware of Maxson’s heated presence. His anxious, irritated energy sparked and prickled throughout the room. They all silently gazed up at their formidable leader.

Arthur found himself uncomfortably clearing his throat, attempting to calm himself. “Paladin Nora,” he began, his own commanding voice sounding significantly hoarser than usual, “I wish to resume our earlier conversation in private. Please accompany me back to my quarters.”

Danse pushed back his chair. Nora gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head, halting whatever action Danse had intended to take.

A rebellious glint flickered through Nora’s face, her normally warm eyes now sharp and defensive. He suspected, if not for the current company, she would have told her superior officer just where he could stuff his orders. Instead, she raised herself up proudly. “Yes sir,” she replied stoically.

 She followed him wordlessly back to his quarters. The uncomfortable trip back seemed to take a small eternity. As they turned a corner, he dared to steal a glance upon her. Her face betrayed nothing. He was reminded of his lifeless, detached, bride-to-be. Perhaps Beth, too, wore her blank mask as a defensive mechanism; a form of security against anger and pain.  

Maxson shut the door to his room, noting for the first time an absence of locks, bolts, or switches on the backside of the metallic door. He cursed inwardly. Casdin’s doing, most likely, as a safeguard against secrets and treachery. No wonder the old man was able to barge in earlier with such vile confidence.

As Maxson turned around, he found Nora standing formally behind him, arms crossed behind her back, an action that mimicked his own normally stiff posture. “What do you wish to discuss, Elder?” she asked robotically. The formality to her words cut worse than any actual insult she could have hurled at him.

He attempted to retain composure. “There is no excuse for the words I stated earlier…” he began in a familiar, lecturing kind of way.

Nora did not respond. She retained her rigid posture. He had not even cracked her veneer.

It was too much to bear. He strode up to her quickly, desperately clutching her hands before she had a chance to protest.

“Forgive me,” he pleaded. “Please. I beg you.” His voice cracked, cutting a clean line through Nora’s defenses. She did not pull back. “I’m _afraid_ , Nora.”

Nora’s eyes flashed, and she jostled in place, unsure whether to back away and inch forward.  “Arthur…” she half-sighed, half-warned.

Words continued to spill from him, finally unrestrained. “I have already lost Sarah to the Untarnished…I cannot bear the thought of losing you too.”

Nora’s head cocked as she battled a pained expression.

It wasn’t enough. He needed more.  

He squeezed her small hands, drawing what strength he could.

This was the moment. He could not hesitate now.

“I love you. I’ve known from the moment you were brought on board.”

He felt a shiver trickle through her body. She began stepping back as the words engulfed her. He countered by pressing forward as he forced himself to continue his admission. It was all coming easier now.

“I cannot deny it any longer.”

Nora moved back once more. Maxson prowled forward.

“You are the only woman I will ever want.”

There was nowhere left to go. Nora’s backside collided against one of the tapestry-adorned walls behind her. Maxson quickly closed the distance between them, clasping her arms with his large, calloused hands.

Nora gradually surrendered, lifting her head and slowly, hesitantly, meeting his eyes.

“I love you too.”

When he heard the words he did not wait. He cupped her face in both hands and pressed his lips firmly against hers. Nora swooned slightly and grabbed at his waist to keep her balance. He pressed back harder, deeper, longer, savoring the moment in case it never occurred again. When Nora eventually broke the kiss, she was reddened and panting.

 “ _Arthur…_ ”

That single husky word threatened to drive him mad.

He was upon her with newfound fervor, his hands desperately wrapping around her back as his lips met hers once more. He heard her gasp. Fear and excitement shot through him in equal measures. Nora began groping and tugging at his buckled shirt. He retreated slightly, and her inquiring eyes met his. “I’ve never...been with a woman before,” he slowly admitted. “As a Maxson it would have been considered…unbecoming.”

The admission made Nora waver and pull back. “You’re right. We shouldn’t…”

“I only wanted you to know,” he quickly replied, desperately clutching her hands in his own. “I do not wish to stop.”

She smiled. “Okay.”

 She guided his hands down to her jumpsuit, silently urging him to disrobe her. He acquiesced, delicately undoing the zipper with slow, anticipatory precision. Smooth flesh peeked through, and he suppressed a shudder. He dropped his battle coat to the ground with a hasty thud. Nora ensured that his shirt quickly followed suit, deftly undoing each buckle until it tumbled off. Nora began gliding her hand downward from his thick neck to his taught chest, tickling and toying along his rippling abs. A low grunt escaped his lips. He couldn’t bear it as she began jostling his belt…

A metal clang rang out. The door to Maxson’s room had once again opened.

At the entrance stood Beth McNamara.

 


	25. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the delay and for the abbreviated chapter! Struggling to get the next few chapters as un-crappy as possible. In the meantime, I wanted to get something out there to at least resolve the cliffhanger from the last chapter.

 

Nora and Arthur scrambled to redress as Bethany stood vacantly in place. Maxson quickly threw his jacket on; Nora hastily tugged at the zipper of her flight suit.

After ten still and silent seconds, something in Bethany McNamara changed. Her face contorted into a feral snarl. Her arm shot forward, laser pistol in hand.

Maxson and Nora froze.

Beth's metamorphosis continued. Her glazed eyes now smoldered. Her thin lips writhed and twisted. Her petite hand clutched at her weapon with a deathly-white grip.

Beth directed the gun squarely at Nora.

" _You_ …" Beth hissed, her voice now hot and noxious. "Elder Casdin warned me about you..."

Arthur dared to move. He took a slow, delicate step towards the weaponized woman, hands raised disarmingly. "Bethany…" he pleaded.

"It's not your fault," Beth grumbled to her would-be husband. "These outsiders are charmers. They worm their way into our ranks before destroying everything we love."

Nora remained rooted in place, not daring any action that could aggravate Beth further.

Beth continued, her gun fixated on the vault-dweller. "An outsider was allowed into the Mojave chapter, you know. My uncle was Elder at the time. He was foolish enough not to kill her on sight." She scoffed at Maxson, spittle flying from her mouth. "He probably thought she was a pretty little thing, too."

Beth's voice vibrated with raw rage as she continued. "The outsider betrayed him in less than three days. Found some bullshit law he'd violated and squealed on him. Hardin had no choice- by Brotherhood doctrine he had to replace my uncle as Elder."

Arthur felt hot prickling anger sting his body. Beth had swallowed this line of drivel from Hardin without question, yet it made no sense. This Mojave outsider had nothing to gain by removing McNamara, unless she had been incentivized to do so. Hardin, however, reaped numerous material and political rewards from the treachery. If Beth was too naïve not to realize the part Hardin must have played in her uncle's demotion, then she was a greater fool than the former Elder McNamara had ever been.

Beth's fingers started tapping and toying with the pistol's trigger. Nora seemed to flinch and blink with every movement of Beth's fingers. "But no," Beth spat, her story still unfinished, "that single betrayal wasn't enough for her. She had to go and blow the entire Mojave bunker to hell." Beth was shouting now. Her teeth gleamed in the light like ivory daggers. " _I_ won't make the same mistake. _I_ won't let this bitch live."

Arthur inched sideways in a feeble attempt to block Nora from the gun. "Beth," he attempted to coo. "I am Nora's superior officer. I initiated this indiscretion. Punish me."

His attempt did not work.

"Stay back!" Beth barked to Arthur, swinging the gun back and forth between the two of them. "You don't understand, Arthur…" She shook in rage. A red flush enveloped her skin. "Nora will betray you. It's only a matter of time." She sneered. "Just look at what happened when we tried to have her killed on the Prydwyn- she used _you_ as her own human shield! You almost died because of this savage!"

Maxson visibly recoiled backwards as the implications behind her words congealed in his mind.

_Beth is a member of the Untarnished._

Beth gave a cackling laugh at Maxson's apparent shock. "Poor, sweet, ignorant Arthur. You have no idea how much dirty work we have to do just to keep your steel soul clean." Her gun quivered in her hand, now aimed back in Nora's direction. "Hardin convinced me that I, too, had to do my part for the good of the Brotherhood..." The gun lifted slightly, in line with Nora's head. "I told Bigsley not to screw up her shooting, but that drunken oaf can't even button up his own pants."

Maxson continued to step back until he collided with one of the glass display cases behind him. It rattled and clanged against him.

The sound caused Beth to turn towards him. Nora wasted no time, lunging at Beth like a starving deathclaw. Beth was unprepared for the collision and quickly toppled to the ground. Her laser pistol flew into the air, tumbling well out of reach. Beth attempted to raise herself to retrieve her weapon, but Nora landed a well-timed punch to her face, causing Beth to collapse once more. Nora's hands lunged for Beth's throat, but Beth managed a throw her knee into Nora's gut, causing the vault-dweller to wheeze and release her grip. Beth scrambled across the floor for the gun. Her fingers curled around its handle, and she whipped it in Nora's direction.

Three discharges were released in rapid succession.

A figure slumped to the floor.

But it wasn't Nora.

It was Bethany.

Arthur stood across the room, firearm from the display case in hand. Luckily, the rusted Enclave gun still worked and the ammo beside the weapon was indeed real. The weapon still sizzled and fumed in Arthur's hand. He found himself, for the first time ever, grateful to the Enclave's insidious technology.

Danse burst into the room at that moment, poised for combat and armed with a plasma pistol. "What is the situation?!" he yelled urgently.

Nora did not reply. Instead, she hunched over Beth's body, and pressed her fingertips to the Beth's neck.

Arthur knew what Nora would say before she said it.

"She's dead."


	26. Reassessment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always struggle to write chapters after big events happen, as they feel fluffy and dull in comparison. Oh well, I believe I only have one chapter left before the big showdown with the Untarnished so I hope you will continue to read and comment along!

 

Chapter 26: Reassessment

“Welp. Shit.”

Proctor Ingram leaned over Beth’s body, arms crossed and head cocked as she muttered those two blunt words.

Danse, Nora, Haylen, Teagan, Kells, and Maxson joined Ingram in Maxson’s now battered and bloodied quarters. All were huddled over the charred remains of Bethany McNamara in a kind of confused vigil. Demoralization diffused throughout the room like venomous gas.  

“I had no choice,” Arthur retorted, defensively. “Bethany attempted to kill Nora.”

“I am not blaming you,” Ingram countered. “But weddings do need a _bride_.”

Teagan’ ever-present scowl dug deeper into his face. “I don’t know why you bothered dragging me and Kells into this. It’s not like there is anything we can do to fix this.”

Maxson matched Teagan’s frown with one of his own. “We may be at war with the Untarnished by the night’s end. I need every loyal soldier I have by my side.”

Kells eyes darted to Maxson uncomfortably. “With all due respect, sir, if conflict does break out, I am not sure how many soldiers will stand with you. Many Prydwyn troops were either transfers from out west or were previously stationed on the Citadel under Elder Casdin. They are loyal to you for now, but that could change if you order them to kill other Brotherhood soldiers.”

Danse’s large body slumped. “We’d intended to use the wedding ceremony as an opportunity to address the troops and rally them to our cause,” the paladin explained.

Silent dismay ensued.

The next words Nora said were, perhaps, not surprising.

 “I have an idea.”

“I will not hear it!” Arthur barked, whipping towards her with unconcealed agitation. “I’ve had quite enough of your ideas.”

Danse stepped forward towards the Elder. “Sir, if we don’t formulate a fallback plan quickly, we will fail in our mission.”

The paladin’s statement was calm, composed, and frustratingly true. Maxson’s normally impassioned words failed him, and he found himself unable to conjure a satisfactory reply. Instead, he rubbed his beard gruffly until the skin grew pink and tender.

Danse took advantage of the Elder’s silence and turned his attention to Nora. “What plan do you have in mind, soldier?”

Nora did not answer, and instead hunched over Beth’s body, rummaging through her pockets with fervor and greed. After several seconds, she produced a key card and inspected it carefully. Finally, she raised herself and began marching towards the door without explanation beyond a cryptic, “Be right back.” As the steel door creaked open, she sent a fleeting glance backwards. “Danse, Ingram, I’d appreciate your company,” she offered before exiting. “I don’t want the Untarnished taking potshots at me while I’m out.”

Ingram and Danse exchanged puzzled glances. Eventually, Danse nodded. “Affirmative,” he bellowed. The pair joined Nora and exited.

***

When the three returned, Danse and Nora were carrying large balled up wads of ivory cloth. Ingram held a petite pair of glimmering shoes. “We were able to use the keycard to get into Beth’s room,” Nora explained as she dumped her findings onto the bed.

Danse and Ingram followed suit. The trio then gingerly unfolded the contents of their findings.

They’d brought back Beth McNamara’s wedding attire.  

Brotherhood weddings were typically a stark matter, with both bride and groom adorned in uniform. For this particular occasion, however, a move lavish exception had apparently been made. Beth’s dress was spotless and silken, adorned throughout with small glimmering baubles. It was accompanied by a thick, opaque veil and petite dress shoes.

Nora’s mysteriousness was beginning to grind at Arthur’s patience. “What is the meaning of this?” Maxson found himself grumbling.

Nora did not look at Arthur. Instead, her eyes fell to Scribe Haylen. Haylen caught her gaze and took a cautious step back. “What?” the scribe asked warily.

Nora answered slowly. “The wedding dress has a pretty thick veil…And, the thing is… Haylen kind of looks like Beth from far away.”

Teagan shook his head, his voice dripping in skepticism. “Are you suggesting we use Haylen as a, what?… _substitute_?”

Nora ‘s normally kind eyes now wandered over Haylen in a shrewd and calculating manner. “Well….Yeah.”

“Enough,” Maxson crossly cut in with a slash of his hand. “The entire concept is inane. What if the Untarnished seek Beth out before the wedding commences? Even veiled, anyone in close proximity to Haylen would realize her true identity.”

Nora replied easily. It was evident that she’d already considered this problem. “So we keep Haylen isolated. We don’t let anyone who knows Beth get too close.”

“And how do you propose we accomplish that feat?” Arthur snarled.  “How do we explain to the Untarnished that Bethany is suddenly and inexplicably unavailable?”

Nora shrugged casually, apparently now used to the Elder’s riled outbursts. “Danse, Kells, Teagan, and I will dispose of the body and take shifts guarding your door,” she explained. “If anyone comes looking for Beth, we’ll tell her she’s with you and that you gave us strict orders not to be disturbed.”

Arthur scoffed, disgust coating his throat as Nora’s vague connotations materialized in his mind. “Are you suggesting, _paladin_ ,” he bit back with resentment, “that we imply to visitors that Beth I are in the midst of intimacy?"

Nora frowned. “I wouldn’t put it so bluntly, but yes.”                                                                                    

Danse shot Arthur a sympathetic look and frowned. “We do not know why Beth decided to visit you alone tonight, Arthur. Before finding Nora, her objective may have been to seduce you, in which case Nora’s plan is consistent with Beth’s original strategy.”

Maxson was about to growl another dissent when a new voice entered the fray.

“I’ll do it!”

All heads snapped towards Scribe Haylen’s sudden outburst. Hayeln’s face flushed at the sudden legion of eyes upon her but she continued proudly. “I will substitute for Beth.” Her words seemed to bear an unseen weight down about the room. None spoke as she explained.  “No one seems to have any better ideas and at least this way we have a _chance_.” She turned to Arthur with a wry smile. “But if we do go through with this, I want an annulment by tomorrow night.”

Arthur smirked. “Granted.”

Nora and Danse both shifted with discomfort.

“What about the body, sir?” asked Kells interjected, beckoning towards the charred corpse.

Danse answered. “Nora and I can retrieve our power armor and anonymously move the body via a cargo container. It will appear to others that we are merely transporting munitions or armor. We can then store the container aboard the Prydwyn until the Untarnished are dealt with. The troops are on shore leave, so the ship is essentially vacant.”

“The body and container will be of significant weight. I will help you transport the corpse,” added Kells.

“Alright, then Teagan and I will guard Elder Maxson’s door,” added Ingram. Her eyes twinkled. “We should all scatter….give the ‘happy couple’ some time alone so the Untarnished think they are getting busy.”

“Ingram!” Haylen scolded, the ruby tint in her cheeks now creeping down her neck.

Ingram smiled coyly. “What?”

 “Ingram is right,” Arthur grumbled. He did not, in fact, think that any of them were right. The plan was an imprudent death wish. However, his stress and frustration were culminating into an oppressive migraine. He rubbed his forehead delicately. He needed solitude. “Leave us.”

With that, the soldiers made their way to their respective roles, except for Danse, who paused and turned back towards Maxson and Haylen. “Be careful,” he warned.

Arthur was about to respond before realizing Danse’s coal-black eyes were not directed at him, but at Haylen. The scribe nodded sternly. “I will, sir,” she answered.

Nora then mimicked Danse, stopping short of the exit and half-turning towards Arthur. Her eyes darkened and trembled. “I’m sorry, Arthur,” she muttered forlornly, though she did not elaborate further. Before Arthur could respond she was out of the door.


	27. Preparation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered cutting this chapter since it is mostly fluff, but I ultimately decided to keep it since the big showdown is next. I hope you stay tuned!

 

Arthur Maxson lay stiffly atop his marriage bed as if it were made of stone.

Pressure and pain clenched around his mind. He vainly attempted to calm himself to combat the pain.

Given the circumstances, however, relaxation was proving to be an impossible task.

Haylen, meanwhile, sat as far away from her false fiancée as possible, shifting uncomfortably in a chair on the far side of the room. 

While Ingram and Teagan guarded the door, Nora, Danse, and Kells scrambled in and out of Maxson’s quarters like scurrying roadroaches. Eventually, the trio awkwardly contorted and stuffed Beth’s body into a rusted rectangular storage container. They supplemented the container with bloodied rags and towels from Arthur’s bathroom, working like fresh-faced scribes to clean the floor of its fresh crimson coating.

Their departure with Beth’s body brought with it sacred silence and some sliver of comfort. Arthur could feel the incessant pulsing in his head begin to subside. He’d considered closing his eyes…

 “I helped him.”

Haylen’s voice sliced across the room.

Maxson jerked up to a seated position, unprepared for the outburst. “What did you say?” he asked.

Her kind eyes turned hard, resolute. “Danse. I knew where he’d go when he found out he was a synth, but I didn’t tell anyone… except Nora.” She paused. “And I only gave her the coordinates because she promised me she’d help him.”

Dark, viscous emotions churned in Maxson’s gut. More secrets, more deceit, this time from one of his finest soldiers. “Why are you telling me this now?” he attempted to ask levelly.

Haylen swallowed. “So many people here have lied to you and plotted behind your back. I don’t want to be one of them.”

Arthur found himself at a loss for words, torn between gratitude and anger. As a wave of pain receded he forced himself to stand before skulking to the nearest window, peering out at the ashen landscape.

“You don’t have to worry about Danse and Nora, you know.” Haylen continued to speak, unfazed by Maxson’s cool reaction. He did not know how to respond, so he said nothing. She continued. “I see the way you look at them when they are together.”

Arthur felt a flash of uncomfortable heat crawl across his face. His first instinct was to deny her claim, but he was too weary to try. He continued to look away in silence.

Haylen ignored his sudden reddening, apparently preoccupied with her own thoughts. “Danse is too professional to ever acknowledge or act on his feelings…for anyone.” Her last words morphed into something bitter. Arthur caught the tone and finally turned to face Haylen. Her arms were petulantly crossed, and she resembled a pouting child. “I ought to know.”

Arthur’s thick brow raised. “W-“

 “I’m in love with him. With Danse.”

Haylen’s eyes dropped to the floor. “I have been for a while now.” The bitterness crept back. “For all the good it’s done me.” She gave a bleak laugh. “You aren’t the only one that gets jealous of those two, you know.”

Finally, Maxson spoke. Anger leaked into his words. “Whatever your motives, you disobeyed my orders. You aided and abetted a fugitive of the Brotherhood.” His neck tensed, every bone and sinew visible under his skin. “Furthermore, you chose a single life over the lives of everyone within Brotherhood. You disrespected our doctrine. Disrespected _me_.”

Haylen flinched as if the words were weapons.

 “…That being said, Nora made the same decision regarding Danse that you did. And, despite my better judgement, your choice to spare him may have ultimately been the correct one.”

He paused, reflecting on her words. “Thank you for your admission, Haylen. I may not wish to marry you, but you are an exemplary soldier…and a good woman.”

Haylen beamed. “Thank you sir.”

He rubbed his temples absently. The pain was gone.

***

Morning arrived with haste.

It was doubtful that anyone in the group had slept more than a scant few hours. Even after Beth’s body was cleaned and disposed of, the remainder of the night was spent assigning duties, tweaking plan details, stocking ammunition, and calibrating power armor. By the time all was ready, darkness was already slinking away.

At 0900, there was a tepid knock at Maxson’s door. Haylen scurried into the bathroom while Arthur fondled his gun as he answered. The caution was ultimately not needed, as a gushy scribe answered. The young boy quickly kneeled before Arthur in an exaggerated and grandiose gesture before rising and presenting him with his wedding suit- a ceremonial viridian coat, adored with so many reflective medallions and baubles Arthur had to squint at it. As he tried it on, his knees nearly buckled from the cumbersome weight.

By 1000, Nora, Ingram, Danse, Kells, and Teagan reconvened in Arthur’s room. The most difficult remaining task proved to be dressing Haylen; Beth’s gown was composed of a labyrinth of interconnected mounds of fabric. It took nearly thirty minutes to properly clothe her. 

Their timing was apt, however. Ten minutes after Haylen was dressed, Hardin burst through Maxson’s door. His face appeared bloated and pig-like. “Where is she? Where is Bethany?” he growled reproachfully. He shot a shrewd glance past Arthur, to the arms, armor, and soldiers occupying the room. “And why is there a small army in your bedroom?”

Maxson shrugged casually. “Bethany spent the night with me.” Luckily for all, Haylen stood veiled and ghost-like at the far end of the room. She did not dare speak, but limply waved at her ‘father’ instead. Maxson continued nonchalantly. “The soldiers and weaponry are ceremonial. A descendent of Roger Maxson ought to project a certain image, wouldn’t you agree?”

Arthur’s words did not suffice.

“I want to speak to my daughter, _alone_ ,” Hardin bit back, taking several steps forward.

Arthur deftly blocked him. “Bethany and I do not wish to be apart a moment longer,” he retorted. “You may speak to her after the ceremony.”

Hardin’s beady eyes locked with Maxson’s own. The icy steel of Arthur’s gaze eventually wore the older man down.

“Fine!” Hardin jeered, and stomped off with a slam of the door.

 “That ought to piss him off,” said Ingram with an approving smile.

“Good,” replied Maxson. “If he is angry, he is more likely to err.” He turned to his troops. “We will depart for the ceremony at 1100. Suit up.”

The remaining time was spent in a whirlwind. Danse easily beat everyone in readiness, adorning his power armor with a speed an ease that demonstrated how frequently he used it. Nora, on the other hand, appeared listless. Minutes later, she had still not entered her armor, and instead bowed her head to the floor with a troubled expression.

Sarah Lyons had often looked that very way, Arthur recalled. He’d caught her at least a dozen times with head bent and eyes uneasy, beautiful and battle-ready and sad. He’d always wanted to comfort her in those times, to wrap his boyish arms around her and admit how grateful he was to her. Alas, Sarah always looked too statuesquely perfect to be disturbed, like a tragic pre-war portrait. He never found the courage to act.

But a decade had changed much. He strode purposefully up to Nora and clutched her in his arms before she could react. He knew exactly what he wanted to say.

 “Thank you… for all you have done for me.”

Nora gasped at his sudden fervor before finally settling into his embrace. Her voice was strained, weary. “Don’t thank me just yet. I’m probably leading us all to our deaths.”

He drew back to look upon her for, possibly, the last time. His normal stern visage was replaced with something new; something softer and gentler and exceedingly rare. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. Because of you, I can finally punish these traitors and avenge Sarah’s death.” He stroked a rough hand across her jaw. “I am forever in your debt.”

She managed a sad smile.

For once, he smiled as well. “I would like to take a brief leave with you, when our mission here is complete. I need to rendezvous with the Lone Wanderer in Sanctuary…” His voice grew soft. “…And I would like to discuss… our future arrangements.”

Nora was still and quiet, and Maxson felt cold anxiety tease his gut. Then, finally, she grasped at his jacket with both hands. His coat’s medallions jingled as she drew herself towards him and threw her lips to his. Warmth spilled through his every vein in a quick and forceful tide. Arthur found himself panting for air as she pulled back just long enough to answer.

“I’d like that.”

A curt voice shattered the moment. It came from Danse.

 “It is time.”

 


	28. Ceremony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, we are finally here. Ahhhh!!

 

Chapter 28: Ceremony

He heard nothing but the hammering of his heart.

Arthur Maxson had been forced to suppress his fears long ago. He’d been thrown into combat as a boy, forced to lead as an adolescent, and molded into an idol by adulthood. Yet now, of all times, he found himself struggling to maintain calm and focus.

He’d entered the fray of a dozen battles, but this was no battle.

This was a coup.  

His first. Possibly, his last.

He stood atop an achingly bright platform, center stage for what had once been an opera theater. Overhead spotlights consumed the platform in debilitating white light, humming and searing like lasers. He could feel sweat seeping and spreading throughout his viridian coat. He hoped that the countless Brotherhood soldiers before him could not sense his apprehension. Haylen, to her credit, revealed nothing save for a few reassuring smiles in his direction.  

The orator of the wedding ceremony, an elderly Head Scribe with waves of loose skin, was in the midst of a prolonged and wordy speech. Maxson did not listen. Instead, he watched the audience, but could discern nothing save an endless sea of bobbing shadows.

The orator’s droning speech was finally winding down, with longer pauses and overextended words. Maxson would have to speak soon, but he had no way of knowing if his troops were in position. He could not even locate a single member of the Untarnished.

Maxson did not hear the orator’s request, but he did percieve the expected silence in the room. It was his turn to speak.

“Brothers and sisters of the Brotherhood,” Arthur began, bellowing and pacing with feigned confidence. He paused for a moment. Not so much as a shuffle or cough could be heard. “The Enclave is obliterated. The Institute is destroyed. The Super Mutants are in retreat. Yet, despite our many victories, an enemy has grown in our midst.”

The crowd remained silent, enraptured.

“For years now, unseen forces have murdered our soldiers, usurped our Elders, and undermined my authority.” Bubbling murmurs simmered in the crowd.

“Who?” a voice called from the audience.

“A group that wounded and nearly killed me,” Maxson loudly answered, ripping buttons as he forced his coat open. He swiftly lifted his damp undershirt to reveal the gunshot scar that rippled across his belly. Gasps rolled through the audience. Arthur thought he heard Danse’s deep voice boom at someone to remain seated. He continued. “This group festers within the Brotherhood of Steel itself, composed of Head Scribe Biglsey, Elder Casdin and Elder Hardin…They call themselves Untarnished!”

Chaos was beginning to erupt. He heard the familiar blip of laser fire emanate from his right, between shouts and scuffles. Maxson was too blinded to determine the identity of the shooter or the victim. He had no choice but to keep speaking. “Now they wish to marry me to one of their traitorous kin and sully the Maxson name forever. My brothers and sisters, I beseech you, if you have any respect for me and for the Brotherhood, bring the Untarnished to justice!”

More gunfire, now from multiple sides. Haylen intelligently fled the stage. Maxson drew the gun he had concealed within his coat but could see nothing in the escalating insanity.

Suddenly, a bloodied Elder Casdin burst from the periphery, pointing his gun at Maxson before Maxson could turn in time.

“Enough!! Lower your weapon!” Casdin bellowed with furious vigor. Maxson hissed curses but ultimately obeyed. He had no doubt Casdin’s aim was still true, even as a withered old man.

“You have some nerve, _boy_ ,” Casdin growled. The former outcast leader stalked towards Maxson with predatory ambition. Casdin’s mouth curled and twisted in rage as he spoke. “You were nothing before we came to you. Nothing! Just a sniveling, sneezing, runt.” Casdin’s hands were steady on the weapon, his decades of experience serving him well. “We rescued you from the Lyons’ coddling. We threw you into the crucible of war. We provided you with victories and glory. We transformed you into a man worthy of your ancestors’ na-“

The whiz of laser weapon fire.

Casdin’s chin went to his chest as he gazed upon the new crater in his torso. His resolve soon slipped and he crumpled to the floor.

An armored behemoth stood behind the body, gun still sizzling. It approached Maxson and removed its helmet.

It was Paladin Danse.

Both men simply stared at one another for several seconds, as if understanding one another for the first time. “Danse…”Maxson muttered.

Danse did not hear him. He suddenly keeled over, gripping at a charred hole in his armor on his left side. He managed to point a shaking finger and grunt an urgent “Nora…”

Arthur scrambled off of the stage.

Hardin’s corpse was huddled atop the limp bodies of his guards. They all reeked of burnt flesh. The former Elder’s sausage-like fingers were still clenched around his gun and his dead face was warped in a yowl.

Smoke still hissed from the barrel of Hardin’s weapon.

Haylen had already scrambled beside a prone body nearby. “Help me!” she pleaded as she attempted to open Nora’s power armor. Arthur hastily acquiesced, opening the now blackened and bulleted suit. Nora spilled out onto the floor. Her chest was blackened and smelled of ash. She was unnaturally still. Scarlet began seeping into Haylen’s pristine ivory dress.

 _No_ …

 “We need a medic!” Haylen screamed, as much to the crowd as to Arthur.

Maxson found that he couldn’t move… Couldn’t acknowledge the motionlessness, the burning, the blood...  

_This cannot be…_

Somewhere in the chaos, Cade had made it onstage, craning over a weakly seated Danse. “We need to get them to an infirmary, now!” Cade shouted with urgency.

The doctor’s presence smacked sense back into the Elder. “Haylen,” Arthur ordered hastily, “Vertibirds are stationed outside. Assist Cade in transporting Danse to one, and make for the Citadel infirmary. I will take Nora and meet you there.”

 She offered a pained look and nodded. “Yes sir.”

Arthur delicately wrapped Nora in his arms, carrying her limp body away. Viscous crimson trickled down his chest, dripping shiny liquid beads across the floor.

Within minutes, Arthur was soaring back to the Citadel, holding Nora softly as he barked at the pitiful pilot to fly faster.  

Once he arrived at the Citadel infirmary, Nora was hurriedly whisked away by a swarm of medical technicians.

He did not even have the chance to say goodbye.

Suddenly alone, Arthur sensed something behind him.

He turned.

It was an achingly familiar metallic infirmary chair.

It seemed to mock him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know. I’m a monster. But don’t fret, the story is not over yet!


	29. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could probably use a few more read-throughs but I am anxious to resolve the awful cliffhanger from the last chapter. I still have one more plot point left to write so the story isn’t finished just yet.

 

It was all too familiar.

Two limp bodies, prone and unmoving in the infirmary. Arthur Maxson, anxiously seated nearby.

A decade ago, those bodies belonged to Sarah Lyons and the Lone Wanderer. Now, they belonged to Nora and Danse.

The friends of Elder Arthur Maxson seemed destined to suffer.

Minutes blurred into hours. Days melted together. Reality and nightmare became indistinguishable.

Occasionally, Arthur caught whiffs of conversation between infirmary staff. Ominous anatomical phrases whizzed through the air.

“-lung collapse-”

“-internal bleeding-”

“-kidney failure-“

 “-heart damage-“

“-comatose-”

Three days passed before Cade brought answers.

The doctor plodded in sometime in the evening. He looked a decade older. A foggy film now veiled his eyes, and his cheeks were sliced with fresh wrinkles. Arthur’s eyes warily settled on Cade’s clothes, which were smeared with crimson streaks. Some of the streaks had dried, but others were alarmingly fresh.

Despite Cade’s disheveled appearance, his words were clear. He explained that Danse’s gunshot wound had stabilized but he remained at risk for kidney failure. Nora, on the other hand, had sustained laser damage both to her heart and lungs. Neither lung had yet collapsed, but her heart remained abnormally weak.

Neither paladin had regained consciousness. It was, as Cade cautiously put it, ‘a matter of some concern.’

Normally, Arthur would have snapped at Cade for his lack of results, but he found himself too exhausted to respond. Instead, he sunk further into his chair and waved Cade away.

Days continued to crawl by. Others ebbed and flowed from the infirmary in the meantime, a swath of faces, both familiar and alien. Arthur barely registered their passing save for Haylen, who often perched herself beside Danse for countless hours. Council members also visited, but for far less altruistic reasons. Some skittered in to grovel, hoping to reassure Maxson of their dubious loyalty. Others came to announce his fear-induced promotion to High Elder. Some urged Maxson to address the troops to prevent civil war. Maxson agreed to the latter request, but ultimately returned to Nora in the end. The infirmary was his prison now, and he accepted his punishment willingly.

***

After eight days, Haylen screamed for help.

Danse was waking up.

The afternoon was spent with a flock of doctors encircling the paladin. Based on Danse’s continuous cascade of groans, he did not enjoy his newfound attention.

Sometime in the evening, the bustling around Danse waned. Haylen filled the void, and her happy banter fluttered throughout the infirmary. Danse’s deep voice occasionally participated, though his words sounded almost ghoul-like, every syllable grated and jagged against his throat. When Haylen finally permitted herself to leave, Arthur tentatively approached his former friend.

Danse was still conscious, staring vacantly at a grimy splotch on the ceiling. As the Elder approached, he stiffened and even managed a frail salute. “Sir,” he greeted formally.

Arthur could not repress a smirk. No amount of injury, sedation, or pain could dilute Danse’s professionalism. “At ease, soldier,” Maxson replied.

A tense silence flickered between them. Finally, Danse asked the dreaded question. “Nora…?”

Arthur involuntarily balled his fists, savoring the sweet sting of pain as his nails burrowed into his palm. He shook his head. “She remains unconscious. Her condition is....” He struggled to grasp the right word. “Delicate.”

Danse shut his eyes. The cushioning of his bed seemed to partially consume him. “I was originally assigned to Hardin,” the paladin began, “but I couldn’t locate him during the ceremony. Nora eventually spotted him, so we switched targets. I pursued Casdin, and she pursued Hardin.” His voice cracked and he turned his head away slightly. “Her condition…it’s my fault, sir.”

Maxson let out a haggard sigh and rubbed his beard. “It was _Hardin’s_ fault, not your own,” he slowly replied. Danse tentatively turned his head back. His eyes were large, swirling with unsaid emotion. His visage also softened considerably; tense lines slackened. Danse had evidently expected a more severe, disapproving reaction from Arthur.

Arthur cleared his throat and looked to the floor, uncomfortably. He extended his hand towards Danse. “You saved my life at the ceremony. Thank you.”

Danse swiftly clutched Arthur’s hand in a firm handshake. “I am sorry I couldn’t save her, sir,” Danse muttered.  

Maxson tried, and failed, to swallow. All he managed was a small nod.

***

In the midst of the night, something tugged at the fringes of Arthur’s consciousness.

Something light, ticklish, like a wisp of smoke, the brush of a feather.

Familiar sensations returned: the sting of his back in the infirmary chair, the thrum of the fluorescent lights, the muffled moans and snores of the other patients.

But there was something else, as well.

Something new.

He could detect faint strokes against his hand.

He groaned. If some council member was rousing him for some empty, political reason, Arthur would swiftly ensure they’d regret their decision.

The gentle brushes continued. He fought against the pull of sleep. His eyes creaked open, but were blurred from slumber.

The ticklish touching continued.

He gently squeezed his hand shut. He ensnared small, cold fingers.

He shot forward in recognition. His eyes snapped at the bed beside him.

Despite bruises and battering, Nora’s eyes followed him with amusement. She managed a small smile.

“Nora…”

Emotions boiled past Maxson’s defenses. He found himself bolting towards the bed, bending over, and enveloping her into his arms before he could even recall her injuries.

Nora hissed in protest and Maxson found himself blushing sheepishly at his recklessness. “Sorry,” he mumbled guiltily as he slowly lowered her back onto the bed.

As the pain subsided, another lazy smile found her way to her lips. “It’s okay.”

Arthur enveloped her hand with his own. “Your plan worked, Nora. It’s over. The Untarnished have been defeated.”

Nora exhaled with a slow, pained breath. “Good.” Her eyes sharpened and she studied Arthur curiously. “What happens now?”

He unleashed something rare: a genuine, uninhibited smile. His entire face seemed to morph into something different, some long lost relic of his childhood. He no longer resembled the calloused Brotherhood leader Nora knew. He looked young, boyish. Happy. “We should return to Sanctuary. The Lone Wanderer told me to meet her there when the Untarnished were destroyed.” His eyes glimmered. “And I’d like to spend time alone with you to discuss our… future arrangements.”

The answer seemed to satisfy Nora. She closed her eyes and gave a heavy nod.  Her breaths became rhythmically even and her hand slackened. She had returned to sleep.

He grinned in amusement and mild frustration.

Calculations clattered in his mind, but they were not of a militaristic nature.

Sanctuary.

He’d ask her in Sanctuary.


	30. Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been procrastinating getting this chapter out because there are only 2 or so chapters left and I am sad to see my story ending. I can’t believe it is almost over! I debated doing this part of this story but figured ‘aw hell, why not.’ Let me know what you think! Apologies for typos, this chapter went through several versions.

 

Something had changed.

In the weeks following Nora’s recovery, Arthur found himself inexplicably agitated and restless. There was nothing tangible to explain his mood; the culprit was a nebulous thing, some formless force writhing in the air.

He chided himself regularly. After all, everything was apparently well. Danse had been recently discharged from the infirmary and Nora was mere days behind him. The Brotherhood had endured the rise and fall of the Untarnished without shattering into war. Maxson’s promotion had elevated him to unsaid autocrat, with more reverence, respect, and quivering obedience than ever before.

And yet, as the days ticked by, his squirming unease only grew.

On the day Nora was released and they disembarked for Sanctuary, it had become nearly unbearable.

As the vertibird carrying Nora, Danse, Ingram, Haylen, and Arthur split the clouds, his body began to tremble. He peered curiously at his shaking hands. He started flexing and curling each finger, as if to reassure himself that his body was still his own.   

Without even registering the action, he instinctively clutched Nora’s hand. The act succeeded; warmth rippled up his arm, flushing his body and banishing the tremors.  

Nora turned towards him, tilting her head like an inquisitive dog.  He gave no response, only enveloping her hand further in his own.

For better or worse, he’d have his answers soon enough.

***

Something was wrong.

Arthur knew the vertibird door opened, and Sanctuary’s oxygen flooded his lungs.

The air tasted strange. Hot. Thick. Tense.

What the hell was going on?

As his boots sunk into the Commonwealth’s clayey earth, he was relieved to find no apparent evidence of danger or damage. Sanctuary still stood proudly, a small but sparkling achievement in the stark drabness of the wasteland. The Minutemen had kept busy during their General’s absence; new houses had sprung from the ground, and existing buildings had been fortified and decorated. Walls were reinforced, glinting turrets peeped through windows, and towers burst with eager soldiers.

As the Brotherhood soldiers walked towards the center of town, Nora clasped Arthur’s arm. He hadn’t realized his fists were clenched, his biceps contracted and bulging. Her warm eyes wandered over him. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Maxson swallowed hard, attempting to push his feelings down. He had no justification for his mood and he did not want to cause undue alarm. “It’s nothing,” he replied simply, and made a paltry attempt to smile. The gesture clearly failed, as Nora continued to examine him, frowning. After a few strained seconds of eye contact, she wordlessly released her grip.

“General!”

Preston dashed out of a nearby house to greet them, bolting so quickly towards them he nearly collided with Nora. The minuteman ensnared his superior officer in a tight, almost desperate embrace. When he finally disentangled himself from Nora, he snatched Danse’s hand, shaking it forcefully. The joy of reunion slowly drained from his face, however, and a strange expression replaced it.

“Boy am I glad you’re back,” Preston admitted, his voice weighted with fatigue.

Nora’s brow raised. “Has something happened, Preston?”

He cringed slightly. “Yeah.” When Danse and Nora both seemed to rear up and tense, Preston waved his hands to allay them. “It’s nothing bad. It’s just…” He twisted his torso back to the house he’d exited from. As if on cue, a familiar face popped out of the door.

The Lone Wanderer.

Preston nodded towards the Wanderer. “She can explain.”

The Wanderer approached with a swagger and a smirk. Somehow, some way, she knew the Untarnished were gone. She stopped in front of the group before lunging at Maxson with arms splayed. She hugged him with surprising strength. “You did good, kid. You did good,” she whispered into his ear.

As quickly as she had grabbed him she pulled away, turning this time to Nora. She gave a slight bow. “General, I’ve brought something I think you should see.” Her tone was casual but there was an undercurrent of importance.

Arthur felt a knot twist in his gut.

Nora raised her brow suspiciously but eventually nodded. “Alright.” She turned to her companions. “I’ll be back in a sec.” The two vault dwellers walked towards the house the Wanderer had emerged from.

Minutes passed. Danse made small talk with Preston about the status and development of Sanctuary. Arthur said nothing, his jaw grinding in itchy impatience.

What the hell was going on in there?

After a seeming eternity, the two women returned.

Nora looked pale and stricken. Her eyes were wide and glossy, her movements jagged.

Arthur hastily intercepted the pair. He took Nora by the shoulders. Now she was the one shaking.

“Nora,” he said warily. “What happened?”

Nora seemed to look through him at first. After ten long seconds, she finally processed his words. “The Lone Wanderer will show you.”

Slowly, he pulled away from her. His heart hammered. He turned to the Lone Wanderer, suddenly resenting her for her apparently disturbing surprise.

The Wanderer, for her part, didn’t seem to notice or care about his darkened mood. She slipped an easy smile on and even gave him a friendly pat on his back as she led him to the dreaded house. “Sorry I didn't tell you earlier, kid,” she chirped happily as they reached the entrance. “I couldn’t. Not with the Untarnished still around. I hope you’ll understand.”

_This isn’t possible…_

He halted suddenly. He didn’t hear her words.

_This cannot be real…_

Time had added wear and tear but the familiarity was unmistakable.

The silken hair, the shimmering eyes, the thin yet powerful frame.

Before him, stood his mentor.

His idol.

His first love.

Before him, stood Sarah Lyons.


	31. Reaction

Arthur stumbled backwards, out of the house and into the light.

Sarah followed.

She appeared more wastelander than soldier. Arthur had always remembered her in her bulky power armor; she seemed small now, adorned in simple Brahmin leather. Despite a smattering of burns, wrinkles, and scars, her eyes were just as he'd remembered: crisp and clear and slightly sad.

Denial leaked from his lips. "Impossible. You must be a synth…you cannot be…"

Sarah cringed, as if in pain; tears brimmed along her eyelids. She stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Arthur found himself stunned in place.

"…Arthur?"

His eyes widened. Time had muffled her voice in his memory. Hearing it clearly for the first time in a decade was almost too much to bear.

This was no synth. Sarah was real. Human. Alive.

His recognition was all Sarah needed. She leapt atop him in a fierce embrace. Arthur's strength and resolve disintegrated. He found his knees buckling. They both sunk to the floor. He felt the prickling of tears. He managed to choke a scant few words. "…How is this possible?"

Sarah's voice trembled. "The Wanderer saved me. When my escort mutinied, she managed to drive them off, then used all of our stimpacks on me. We've been in hiding ever since." A shaky breath. "I'm so sorry, Arthur. I'm so sorry we left you behind." She hugged him tighter; her smooth check pressed against his own. "I've been so worried about you."

"I loved you," he choked, a sob pulsing in his throat.

Smooth, moist lips touched his ear. "I know, Arthur. I know."

"Don't leave me again," he begged.

Her fingers weaved into his hair. "I won't. I promise."

Finally, Arthur found strength renewed. They both rose, still entwined in one another. Arthur caught figures in his periphery and turned his head. Nora and the Lone Wanderer both stood several yards away. Both women smiled, but Nora was crying.

***

By the time Arthur left Sarah's side, night had fallen. A swollen moon had shrouded Sanctuary in silvery light, giving the town a strange, ethereal quality. Most of the residents had retreated indoors by now, though some still strolled through the streets or lazed about in lamp lit backyards. Happy chatter, the murmurs of music, and the clinking of glasses reverberated throughout town.

The citizens were in the throes of celebration. General Nora of the Minutemen had returned.

Though, as Maxson peeked through golden lit windows, he did not find the General herself among the partyers.

He must have looked suspicious, prowling from building to building to locate Nora. However, the Sanctuary residents walking by went out of their way to ignore him, even with his imposing form and unmistakable Brotherhood insignias. It was as if they were conveying a tacit message: you and your people don't matter here.

They were right. Here, he was merely a supplicant to their leader. One of hundreds, possibly thousands.

He finally made it to one building that was larger than the others, a multi-story miniature tower. This building was far quieter than its neighbors, with only a single, weak light flickering inside.

He slinked against the tower's wall and sidestepped towards an open window.

Before he could see in, he heard a grating voice. He slid closer to the opening.

"….'s how I figure. You get guns. We get crops. Win win."

Maxson did his best to silence his bulky body as he peered across the window. Inside were two familiar leaders, both dressed in ostentatious colonial garb.

Hancock was leaning back in his wooden chair, hat tipped forward with half-empty slimy liquor in hand. Despite his lack of lips, his mouth curled up at the ends in an obvious smirk.

Nora appeared his polar opposite. She was sat straight-backed across a rusted round table, with arms crossed and booze untouched. Her lips were perfectly straight, giving nothing away.

"I want details, Hancock. And a formal contract, on paper. Handshake deals won't cut it."

Hancock's head reared back in a hearty laugh. "Damn, girl. Why you bustin' my balls?"

She betrayed a small grin. "Law school 101: Get shit in writing."

Silence rippled between them. Their respective smiled died.

Hancock rocked forward on his chair. His gnarled hand grabbed hers. White heat radiated from Maxson's chest but he resisted the urge to bolt into the room and interrupt them.

"You alright?" Hancock asked softly, somehow managing to suppress the roughness of his voice.

Nora's eyes narrowed but she did not remove her hand. "Why are you here, Hancock? Preston tells me you've been hanging around Sanctuary for a while now."

The ghoul chuckled mischievously. "What can I say? I like getting baked with that old psychic broad."

Nora rolled her eyes. Hancock laughter waned, and his tone hardened. "Heard a rumor you went on some super-secret mission for those Brotherhood pricks." He squeezed her hand. "Got worried 'bout you."

Maxson ground his teeth but forced himself to continue watching.

Nora's head dropped, suddenly unbearably heavy. She seemed to struggle to lift it back up. Eventually, she managed to do so, and looked once more upon the enigmatic mayor. "I'm alright," she replied. The statement came out as an exhausted sigh.

Hancock scoffed. "I'll say. Danse told me you took one to the chest."

Nora almost smirked. "I got better."

Hancock didn't seem amused. "Christ, Nora, what happened out there?"

Nora shrugged, too tired explain. She settled for a single word. "Politics."

The answer clearly didn't satisfy the ghoul. He raised a non-existent eyebrow and finally removed his hand from hers. Maxson released muscles he didn't realize he had tensed. "Speaking of those walking tin cans..." Hancock continued. "Met that ex-Brotherhood chick who's been hanging 'round town. Ain't that bad, all things considered. Actually talked to me like I was a fucking human being." He paused, scowling. "Saw your beardy 'boyfriend' with her, too, making goo-goo eyes at her."

Nora's face froze as if Hancock had shot her with a cryolator. The ghoul realized that he'd overstepped, and quickly acted to rectify it. He leapt from his seat and swung around the table. He stood at her side and placed a hand gently upon her slumped shoulder. "Hey…" he cooed. Nora summoned the strength to look up at him. "For what it's worth, you got me, darlin'."

Maxson could not bear another moment. He detached himself from the windowsill and stomped towards the front door. To his surprise, he nearly collided with Hancock himself, who was apparently in the process of leaving.

Many people found Elder Arthur Maxson intimidating, but this ghoul was clearly not one of them. He smoothly side-stepped to avoid crashing into the Brotherhood leader, before crossing his arms and huffing. "Done frolicking with blondie already?"

Maxson did not want or care to talk to Hancock. "I'm here for Nora, not for you. Now step aside."

Hancock sneered but slowly obeyed. He began to walk away as Maxson opened the tower's door.

Just as Arthur was about to enter, he heard the raspy echoes of the ghoul's voice.

"Break her heart, and I'll be sure to break something of yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I was going to have Nora talk to Danse instead of Hancock, but this interaction seemed more fun so I changed it. Hope you liked it and sorry for all the curse words :)


	32. Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the big delay! I struggled with this chapter, but I think I finally have a draft I am comfortable submitting. I hope you like it!

 Chapter 32: Intentions

 

As Maxson passed the threshold, Nora did not rise to greet him. She appeared listless and stiff, a waxen imitation of the woman he knew. Her expression was impassive and unreadable, but her swollen, red-rimmed eyes betrayed what must have been a recent bout of weeping.

“Hello, Maxson,” she muttered, a weak attempt to inject life into her inanimate form.

After everything they’d endured, it was strange, wrong even, to hear Nora call him by his surname. Arthur frowned. It could have been worse. She could have called him ‘High Elder’.

He did not reciprocate this new veil of formality. He attempted to murmur her name gently.

“Good evening, Nora.”

His answer evoked a reaction, but not the desired one. Nora snapped her head away slightly, her feathery eyelashes rising and falling in rapid, harsh blinks. He uneasily searched for glistening trails of tears, but when she turned back towards him her face was unchanged.

Arthur’s resolve drained away. He’d come for a specific purpose, and knew what needed to be said. Yet now that he was before Nora, a tangential topic vomited from his mouth.

“Sarah is impressed with your organization,” he heard himself stammer.

Arthur balked as he heard his own drivel, but Nora was far more forgiving. Her thin brows perked and she relaxed slightly. “Wow. That’s high praise coming from a Brotherhood Elder. I mean, we’re hardly forged from steel, or any metal for that matter, but we do our best to get by.”

Arthur did not answer. Instead, he bared his teeth, attempting to will the true reason for his visit out of his mouth. It did not come. Was the High Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel truly such a coward?

 Luckily, Nora proved to be far braver than he. “I am happy for you,” she said, forcing a large smile to stretch across her lips. She looked strangely lizard-like.  

“Nora…” he murmured, his voice unusually soft. He took a few steps forward but Nora halted him with a raised hand.

“She’s perfect,” she replied, leaning back into her chair with feigned nonchalance. “The noble Brotherhood soldier the council always wanted for you. Plus, she is strong, and kind, and…” She paused just a moment too long. “ _Beautiful_.” She gave a brief chortle. The sound was sour. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous.”

“I-“

“Don’t worry about me,” she added, rocking in her seat to maintain her casual façade. “I’ve been preparing for this for a while now.”

Arthur’s face contorted, in evident confusion. “Preparing for what, exactly?”

“Having to say goodbye.”

He stiffened. He hadn’t expected that.

Nora took advantage of his hesitation and barreled ahead. “You said it yourself. I’m a coddled housewife.” Maxson flinched as if slapped. “But _you_ ,” she uttered wistfully, waving her hand in his direction. “You’re practically a king now.”

Maxson, for once, had no words to give.

She sighed, his silence validating something within her. When she spoke again, her words were weighted with fatigue. “And, at the end of the day, I am the leader of the Minutemen. My place isn’t on the Prydwyn or in the Citadel. It’s here.”

Arthur remained silent. He turned his back to Nora, and stepped towards the very open window he’d used to eavesdrop mere minutes before. He crossed his arms behind his back in his usual fashion, and allowed the dim blue glow of the moonlight to engulf him. He closed his eyes for a moment. The moonlight almost felt warm.

By the time he turned back, Nora was hunched over her table, forcing herself to down her previously untouched liquor between grimaces.  “So,” she heaved between slogs of booze, “Is there anything else?”

Maxson had practiced what he’d wanted to say, but now felt off-balance and uneasy. He forced himself to croak, “Yes.”

Nora raised her brows. She placed her glass down and watched him warily.

He cleared an invisible blockage in his throat, and began to pace by the window, keeping a safe distance between the two of them. “Humanity is on the precipice of extinction,” he began. “One small push is all that is needed to send us over the edge. Therefore, the Brotherhood of Steel’s primary objective has been- and should be- acquiring the very technology that brought us to this point in the first place. Only then are we truly safe.”

He paused and looked at Nora. Her eyes followed him lazily, and her lips drooped into a frown. She appeared, frankly, to be bored.

Suddenly his demeanour changed. Instead of standing broad-chested and proud, he dropped his head and dug his boot into the ground like a scolded schoolboy. “Sarah, however, disagrees,” he admitted sheepishly. “She used her authority as Elder to protect and improve the lives of civilians. She wishes to continue doing so.”

He turned to Nora, his eyes almost glowing. He slowly took a step towards her. “That is why Sarah will not be returning to the Brotherhood of Steel. She wishes to join your Minutemen instead, and establish a new chapter in the Capital Wasteland.”

Nora’s mouth went agape, but no words emerged. It was her turn to be surprised.  

Arthur raised a brow. “Is her joining acceptable?”

Nora seemed to jolt herself back to attention. “Yeah, yeah, of course,” she stuttered.

Arthur found himself smirking. Nora was rarely caught so far off guard. “Good.”

He stepped forward again.

He continued. “Sarah is not alone in her beliefs about the Brotherhood. Once Sarah’s existence becomes known, many may wish to join her…particularly individuals who served under her or her father.” Another step. “But having a large swath of soldiers abandon my organization for yours is unacceptable.”

One final step. He found his boots brushing against the side of Nora’s chair.

“Unless…”

She twisted her torso and looked up at him. Her eyes were wide as he spoke. “…an alliance was formed between our organizations, permitting the exchange of troops and supplies." 

Nora crossed her arms defensively. “I thought we were already allies.”

Arthur pushed forward before he could hesitate. “Not officially.”

For the first time since reuniting with Sarah, he dared to touch Nora. He slowly dropped his gloved hand atop hers in a light, almost shy fashion. A soothing, tickling sensation cascaded up his arm, and he resisted the urge to shudder. He kept his grip loose, half expecting her to pull away.

She didn’t.

She glanced down at his hand, then back up at him. Her eyes were sharp and shrewd, yet he could feel her small hand trembling beneath his.

“Have something in mind, Elder?” she asked. She kept her voice cool but the words stumbled into one another.

“Oh!”

Without warning, he spun Nora’s chair towards him. His towering frame seemed even more exaggerated with Nora huddled in her seat. “I believe a formal union between our respective leaders would suffice,” he rumbled. He loomed over her, his hands gliding up the sides of her waist. Nora became strangely still. He suspected she was holding her breath.

“Marry me, Nora.”


	33. Reconciliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a single chapter left after this one! I can’t believe it!! I know I keep repeating myself, but thanks for everyone’s support. I never would have stayed motivated without all of you great people :)

 

With a bout of unforeseen agility, Nora wriggled away, causing a distracting raucous as both her chair and tricorn hat toppled to the floor. Within seconds, Nora had positioned herself defensively on the opposite end of the table from Arthur. She looked bewildered, as if Maxson were in the process of morphing into a deathclaw. “ _Marry you_?” she wheezed. “Are you _crazy_?”

Arthur stalked her slowly around the circular table. For every step he took, Nora counter-stepped in the opposite direction.

 “I can assure you, Nora, I am quite sane,” he answered easily.

“Then you’re a fool,” she rasped back. She bumped unsteadily against the table as she evaded him. “You can’t honestly think I’d go for this.”

He crossed his arms coolly, halting himself. “I don’t see why not.”

Tears finally betrayed Nora, swimming along her eyelids. “Because I’d never marry a man for political gain. Especially if he’s in love with another woman.” Her voice was cracked and hoarse. “I thought you knew me better than that.” A tear dotted the floor.

“I do,” Maxson growled, the breeze from open window causing the lapels of his coat to flap fiercely. “What I have told you is simply the justification I need to forgo other suitors and wed you.”

“Fine! Why _do_ you want to marry me, then?” she spat, ramming her hands onto the table as she leaned forward reproachfully.

Maxson grinned. He glanced down at Nora’s discarded hat, which now grazed against his boot. He then crouched down, and picked it up. He inspected it curiously as he darted peeks at Nora. “I’ve never met a woman like you before,” he began. “A leader who inspires perhaps even greater loyalty to her followers than I do.” He held out her hat as some kind of proof. “A woman who challenges me, intrigues me, inspires me. Not a subordinate, but a peer. A partner.” He placed the hat gingerly atop the nearby table, and prowled towards Nora once more. “A woman I have grown to love.”

“But you _have_ met a woman like me before. What about Sarah?” Nora croaked. “You loved her.” Her voice tremored. “You still do.”

With a sudden burst of energy, Arthur flung the Nora’s table aside. It landed to his right with a violent clash. Now unimpeded by her barricade, he stomped directly towards her. “I will always love Sarah,” he conceded, his voice booming and bouncing off of the walls. He seemed less a man now, and more a force of power. “But much has changed. I am no longer that boy of a decade ago, nor is she same woman I once knew.”

His words were true. He’d idolized Sarah’s memory as though she were a Valkyrie: valiant, immaculate, and utterly infallible. Sarah Lyons the woman stood no chance against this nostalgic effigy. She could only, inevitably, disappoint him.

Maxson stopped mere inches away from Nora. “I don’t want Sarah Lyons,” he huffed, his breath tickling her neck. He dared to grab her shoulders. She did not resist. “I want you.” His massive form leaned over hers.

“Nora, I ask you again: Will you marry me?”

“Arth-!”

He ambushed her before she could answer, pulling her to his chest as he greedily pushed his lips to hers. He continued passionately, desperately, clutching and caressing her body as if to prove some physical point.

Nora did not reciprocate. She remained stolid and wooden, a human barricade to Maxson’s flood of passion.

It didn’t take long for Arthur to understand.

Somehow, some way…he’d lost her.

He slowly pulled back. 

That was when Nora leapt.

She pounced upon him with such vehemence that Arthur had to take a faltering step backwards. Just as he managed to regain a wobbly balance, Nora grabbed at his scruffy face, forcing him into a prolonged kiss.

She broke away just long enough to whisper a single, breathy word.

“Yes.”

For the first time in a lifetime, Arthur Maxson swooned.

Luckily, Nora managed to brace him, keeping his large frame steady with a tight embrace. He leaned onto Nora for support, burying his face into her neck as he held onto her.

She was so small yet so impressively strong.

“Nora…”

His commanding voice had changed into something soft and unsteady, so much so that Nora retreated slightly and looked upon him with concern. He lifted his head and met her gaze. He would never know what exactly Nora saw in his eyes at that moment, but whatever was revealed caused her to gently clasp his hand and herd him into her bedroom.

Arthur Maxson was a robust leader, but that night, he found himself readily submitting to the will and actions of another. With time, his jagged inexperience and taught anxiety washed away, and a fusion of pleasure and bubbling emotion swathed over him. Before long he found himself crying Nora’s name with a choke and a sob into the bright and ethereal night.  


	34. Resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, this is it!! The final chapter. I hope you enjoy…

 Arthur felt… _strange_.

His eyes were clamped shut, though he could feel a streak of sunlight caressing his chest.

Morning had come, but he dreaded facing the day. Facing Nora.

Pre-war books always inflated the importance of female virginity and its loss, yet his intimacy with Nora during the night had, surprisingly, affected him. To be obstinate in the face of defeat, yet crumble at a woman’s touch- that was the curse he now found himself burdened with.

The experience left him feeling… _naked_. Sure, he was naked in a physical sense, but now he found himself equally exposed mentally and emotionally. He recalled the way he’d cried Nora’s name, the way he trembled at her touch, the way he whimpered “I love you”.

The way he clung to her afterwards.

He felt his cheeks singe.

He was a grown man. A warrior. A leader. Such men do not melt in the arms of women. They take them without sentiment, without shame. They may engage with many women, acquiring, selecting and exchanging them like pieces of clothing.  

Why, then, hadn’t he become that kind of man? He had handlers preventing such actions in the Citadel, but the council loosened their leash the moment he boarded the Prydwyn. Was it because, deep down, he knew he would feel this way? That, in matters of intimacy, he could not decouple physical pleasure with emotional attachment?

He groaned and rolled onto his back. Nora was likely the only one who could soothe him. He sighed. He hated that he needed soothing.

He turned again, onto his side, now facing Nora’s side of the bed. He extended an arm. “Nora…” he whispered.

He couldn’t feel her.

His eyes bulged open, scanning and searching the bed.

Nora was gone.

He immediately seated himself. “Nora?” he asked the room. It did not reply.

He scampered off of the bed, hastily retrieving his discarded pants. Panic began to drip through him. “Nora!” He called louder as he clumsily clothed himself. Nothing.

_Where did she go? Why did she leave him?_

He trotted through the house, his bellows becoming all the louder.

_Did he do something wrong?_

“NORA!!”

The silence in the house sounded like a cruel joke.

_Did she find his nakedness unattractive? Was his performance disappointing?_

He burst through the front door of the house, nearly blinded by the cloudless morning. The residents of Sanctuary were mid-bustle, from trading to building to patrolling. Nora’s face was not among them.

_Did he hurt her?_

Without thought or care, Maxson jogged shirtless and barefoot down the street, dodging frightened children and confused pedestrians as he continued to shout Nora’s name at increasingly boisterous volumes.

_Did she regret their engagement?_

“NORA!!!”

For a blip of a second, he thought he saw her, though the figure was eclipsed by a mass of bodies and quickly became obscured behind a building. He bolted after her, his determination masking fresh pain as rocks, glass, and rubble sliced at his exposed feet. He rounded the corner of the building, chasing after the Nora-like figure.

_Was his love for her unrequited?_

“ **NORAAAAAA?!!!** ”

He barreled around the corner…

And violently collided into a group of ghouls, causing them to crash and fall into a tangled ball of bodies. Arthur, for his part, fell backwards, landing unceremoniously on his back.   

“What the hell?!”

That voice…it was Nora’s!

Nora weaved through the ghoul pile. She stopped directly in front of Arthur, teeth bared like a rabid yao guai.

“ARTHUR!!” she roared. Her hands were gnarled and tense, resembling claws more than fingers. “What is _wrong_ with you??”

He inched backwards on the ground, mortified. “I…”

Nora’s aggressive aura temporarily faded as she turned and helped haul one of the ghouls to his feet. “I am _so_ sorry, Wiseman,” she pleaded. “I think this-“ she shot a ferocious glance at Arthur –“ _man_ is still intoxicated from last night’s festivities.”

Wiseman hastily brushed the dirt from his clothes, an ironic action considering his clothes were already grimy. “Good try, Nora, but we both know what this was,” the ghoul raspily replied. Nora tried to interrupt but Wiseman shouted over her. “I’d expect this kind of treatment from Diamond City, but not here! I thought ghouls were accepted here.”

“They are! We do!” Nora stuttered.

Her pleas were in vain. The ghouls were already beginning to leave. Wiseman addressed her for just a moment to issue a final decree. “Until your people learn to tolerate mine, consider our trade agreement between Sanctuary and the Slog cancelled!” He then stomped way, his followers in tow.

She whipped around to Arthur, snarling. “ _You_ …” she hissed. “I’ll deal with you later.”  She trotted after the ghouls without turning back.

 ***

Arthur plodded back to Nora’s house like a wounded mole rat. He could feel the prickle of stares from the citizens of Sanctuary, which only added to his despondence.

He couldn’t blame them from staring. It was near noon and he was wandering down one of Sacntuary’s main streets in nothing but pants, more a vagabond than a soldier. Furthermore, he’d managed to mangle his bare feet by running with such reckless abandon. His soles left a smeary trail of blood behind him.

He huddled into Nora’s house, robotically cleaning and dressing his sticky, sliced feet with a first aid kit from her bathroom. No thoughts passed through him, just a hollow, guilty ache.

He found himself back in the main living room, table still flipped and laying awkwardly on its back. Just as he delicately turned it right-side up, he heard her voice.

“You going to explain to me what that was all about?”

Nora was flushed red, from a probable mixture of anger, exertion, and embarrassment. Her body was coiled and taught, ready at any moment to lunge at him. Arthur flinched.

“I…don’t know,” he offered weakly.

Nora clomped towards him, clearly unsatisfied. “Bullshit. Tell me what is going on. Now.”

He felt like a child all over again, enduring one of his mother’s many volatile reprimands. His mother used to lob insults and accusations towards him with unbearable frequency, causing him to feel as shameful and inept as he did now. Being sent to Elder Lyons felt like a blessing, in comparison. Jessica Maxson may have been his mother, but to this day he rarely found himself missing her.

He now found himself similarly incompetent to Nora. He said then only thing that came to mind.

“I was…afraid.”

Nora shook her head incredulously. “What? Why?”

“When I woke, you were gone. I thought you’d…left me.”

Nora’s mouth twisted, though it wasn’t clear if she was grinning or scowling. “Leave you? That’s ridiculous. I had a meeting at eleven and I didn’t want to wake you.”

Arthur hunched over, guiltily running his hands through his hair. “I see that now.”

Nora was quiet for a long while. Arthur tensed, waiting for another verbal assault. It didn’t come.

Eventually, she sighed. “Well, I don’t think that trade deal with the Slog is going to happen any time soon.” She looked at Maxson. The angry glint in her eyes faded, replaced instead by a mischievous smirk. “But you screwed up, soldier. Our tarberry supply is in jeopardy because of you.” Arthur bowed his head. To his surprise, Nora lifted his chin, forcing him to look upon her. “Such insubordination needs to be punished.” She was smiling now. “As leader of the Minutemen, I will carry out the sentence.”

Arthur balked. “You wish to…reprimand me?”

Her ivory teeth glistened as her smile widened. “Oh yes. On your knees, soldier.”

He obeyed, his head now reaching her waist. He looked up, brow raised in perplexion.

“Good,” she affirmed. She lifted his limp arms and placed them on her hips. “Now, remove my belt…”

Maxson could not restrain an amused grunt. He was beginning to understand what kind of ‘punishment’ he was receiving. “Sexual acts are not condoned as suitable punishment in the Brotherhood of Steel,” he reminded her with a smirk.

Nora raked her fingers along his scalp. “Well, it’s good thing I am in the Minutemen, then.” 

***

The remainder of the day was spent largely in bed, Nora covered with only a thin sheet and her colonial hat. Her eyes were shut, but she still looked smugly satisfied.

“You learn quickly, soldier,” she murmured approvingly.

“That is why I was appointed Elder,” Arthur rumbled. He lay beside her, head nuzzled against her shoulder.

Warmth swirled within him, a euphoric ease he’d never known before. Other days in the years to come would also unearth such feelings…their wedding day, Danse’s appointment to Elder, the founding of a second Minuteman chapter in the Capital Wasteland, Sarah’s reunion with the remaining members of the Lyon’s Pride unit, the birth of their daughter, Danse’s marriage to Haylen, the permanent alliance brokered between the Brotherhood and NCR…

Yet, when difficulty or nostalgia would take hold, Arthur would always recall this day.

The first day in a lifetime he felt truly happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it is all over. It only took me 8 months and 101 pages, too! Gigantic thanks to everyone who has followed along and given feedback. I was very iffy about publishing the first few chapters back in December, but I found such a great community here that I wanted to keep going. You all gave great feedback that I took to heart, and I believe my story greatly improved as a result. I never would have finished this thing without you!
> 
> I don’t have any more Maxson stories planned at the moment, but I might do a Fallout: New Vegas/ Fallout 4 crossover story. It will be significantly shorter than this one and slightly AU, but (like this story) I have this idea that keeps nagging at me so I want to put it on paper. It will take place after the events of New Vegas, and will involve the Courier receiving a mysterious invitation by Mr. House. The invitation is both unexpected and ominous, because the Courier switched allegiances from Mr. House to the NCR before the Second Battle of Hoover Dam… 
> 
> I will probably start this story next month, I am busy prepping my cosplay for Dragoncon. In the meantime, feel free to stay in touch! If anyone would like feedback on stories ideas, beta reading, etc. I may be slow but will happily help out. 
> 
> See you guys around ;)


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